


Like Real People Do

by ScarlettStorm



Series: Something So Magic About You [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: And then they kiss, Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fealty, Fluff, Genderfluid Link (Legend of Zelda), Pining, Post-Game, Slow Burn, Sub Link, That's it, Yearning, a lot of pining, and i damn well meant it, but I'm here now, disaster bisexuals, emotional catharsis, femdom zelda, i said pining, late to the party, later chapters are HORNT(tm), no beta we die like men, tender kink, that's the plot, they're horny and also in love, when i say slow burn I mean we're all gonna hate me for it, you know what you're here for and so do i, zelda and link figure some shit out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 130,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24356524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettStorm/pseuds/ScarlettStorm
Summary: “I haven’t…” she starts, watches his blue eyes narrowed in concern and it’s distracting, everything’s distracting. “I haven’t had a body in a hundred years,” Zelda manages, and shrugs one shoulder, as if to say what can you do? “I was Hylia, mostly, and a little bit me, but I wasn’t a person. I was the sun and the wind and the water and the dirt and I was in a prison and I was the prison. I feel like I’m blindfolded, now, without that sense of the world, but also everything is so bright and loud and close and I hardly know how I’m managing to speak to you when my skin is feeling wind for the first time in a century. It’s…” she trails off, her words failing her, which is infuriating because she’s a scholar, she’s good at words. “It’s a lot,” she finishes awkwardly, for lack of anything better to say.Or: Learning to be a person again, after the end.
Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Series: Something So Magic About You [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904542
Comments: 534
Kudos: 1020





	1. Chapter 1

“ _Do you actually remember me?_ ”

Zelda can’t help asking, even though logically it’s ridiculous. Irrelevant. Selfish, perhaps. “How badly are you bleeding?” would be better, since she can see the stains on his tunic. “Do you need to rest?” is another good option, even though the answer is obviously yes--she can see the exhaustion in the set of his brow, the tightness in his jaw, and the minute slope in the angle of his shoulders. “Where do we go now?” possibly the best question of all, because she knows Hyrule, from hills to plains, deserts to seas, but she knows it as the sun knows it, as the wind knows it, not as a _person_ knows it. She hasn’t been a person for so long she’s not sure she knows how to do it anymore, and clearly she doesn’t know how to ask a relevant question. He’s here, it’s _Link_ , every part of him viscerally, almost violently familiar, and she’s had nothing _but_ memories to sustain her for a hundred years and she can’t, she can’t _help_ it. “Do you actually remember me?” it is, falling out of her mouth like water from a spring. She shivers as she waits, the wind on her skin reminding her that she has skin again, soot and mud in her nose, her eyes roving over him hungrily, the sensory input too much and not enough at the same time.

He takes a moment to answer, his eyes flicking to her and away in a flash of blue, like it hurts to look at her full-on. Zelda knows the feeling. She thinks she might be forgetting to blink, but she can’t stop staring at him, at the way his Champion’s tunic stretches across his shoulders, the way his hands run over the curves of his bow in a nervous tic she remembers from a century before. Link turns to scan where the Calamity was, and then over the horizon in a smooth arc, checking for potential threats like a good knight, like he always _used_ to do, and Zelda feels her heart do something strange in her chest. (Having a heart and a chest again is strange in and of itself, some analytical part of her brain notes absently and itches to catalog in a journal.) His turn brings him back to face her again, and like light on water his gaze travels over her, face to feet and back up. With a deft, practiced movement, he slings the bow over his back.

“Yes,” he says, his voice quiet and soft and she almost weeps to hear it again, her guts leaping up into her throat, and then dropping into her shoes as he adds, “and no.” His brows crease as he bites his lower lip, eyes to the sky and then down to the dirt, clearly struggling for words. When he meets her gaze again his hands move carefully, with a hesitation she doesn’t remember. _I remember… certain things. Not everything. I have the shape of it, but not the details._ His hands drop, his eyes asking a question, and when she nods in answer he grins, his face so bright and radiant for a moment Zelda wildly wonders whether he has Hylia’s power now instead of her. _I wasn’t sure if we spoke like this,_ his hands tell her. _Not everyone understands._

“It took you forever to speak to me either way,” she tells him, the corner of her mouth curving up. “You were so stoic. It was infuriating.”

Link smiles again, ruefully, his teeth white in his golden face. _I didn’t mean to be._

“I know,” she tells him, her heart leaping and breaking all over again, and suddenly she can’t abide the distance between them, can’t abide them awkwardly standing around like strangers at a party. The feeling drives her forward, toward him, and she takes a step even though she doesn’t know what she’s going to do when she reaches him--

And that’s when her _fucking legs give out_ , because she hasn’t had a body for a _hundred fucking years_ , and she doesn’t fucking remember how it _works_. Zelda has just enough time to be bewildered, her temper flaring as her legs decide to throw her into the mud, because _clearly_ today wouldn’t be complete without a little touch of humiliation, but she doesn’t hit the ground. She hits Link’s chest instead, his strong arms wrapping around her to keep her upright, and she collapses against him with a full-bodied shudder as something inside her cracks fully open. One of her hands clutches his tunic, white-knuckled, as the other slides around his shoulders, her face tucked into his neck. He smells _right_ , leather and steel and fresh grass and salt under the frankly rather rank aroma of horse and mud he’s currently sporting, like the world’s worst cologne. She’s shaking, Zelda realizes distantly, she’s trembling and she can’t stop it as she shuts her eyes and _feels_ , for the first time in decades, the heat of another person, gloved hands on her skin, the solid buttress of him shoring her up like a cathedral. _Oh_ , she thinks, as her body very abruptly remembers how to enjoy this. _Oh, that’s going to complicate things._

“Princess?” Link asks, his voice rumbling under her cheek. If she moved her head an inch to the left her lips would brush his neck. She doesn’t move, but she _wants_ to, wants to feel his pulse with her mouth. He shakes her, very lightly, breaking that train of thought. His hands are occupied and her eyes are closed, anyway, so it’s not exactly a surprise when he finds his voice again to ask, “Are you all right? Are you injured?”

“I should be asking you that,” she says into his collar, a little drunkenly. Her senses keep flaring and delivering her more information than she can process, and at the same time she can’t feel the birds and the breeze and the roots under her feet anymore, the combination leaving her lurching about without equilibrium like a badly loaded ship on a stormy ocean. Link huffs an irritated breath under her and she takes that as her cue to find her feet again and carefully push upright. She leaves her hands where they are, though, stays pressed against him both for balance and for her own selfish wants. She meets his eyes, a little below her own (sometimes she forgets she’s taller than him, because his quiet presence looms so large in her memories) and tries to filter out the inputs of her eyes and ears and nose and skin and actually, properly _think_.

“I haven’t…” she starts, watches his blue eyes narrowed in concern and it’s _distracting_ , everything’s _distracting_. “I haven’t had a body in a hundred years,” Zelda manages, and shrugs one shoulder, as if to say _what can you do?_ “I was Hylia, mostly, and a little bit me, but I wasn’t a _person_. I was the sun and the wind and the water and the dirt and I was _in_ a prison and I _was_ the prison. I feel like I’m blindfolded, now, without that sense of the world, but also everything is so bright and loud and close and I hardly know how I’m managing to speak to you when my skin is feeling wind for the first time in a century. It’s…” she trails off, her words failing her, which is infuriating because she’s a _scholar_ , she’s _good_ at words. “It’s a lot,” she finishes awkwardly, for lack of anything better to say.

Link stares at her for long enough that she gets nervous, his eyes scanning her face, his hands flexing against her waist and back through the thin linen of her filthy, tattered dress. The sun comes out at the same time as his laugh, relief dropping his shoulders as his face lights up and she’s so warm, suddenly, from the sun on her skin and his mirth in her ears and under her hands and chest. “A lot,” he repeats, grinning at her, so beautiful under the grime and blood of the battle that she can’t breathe for a moment. “A hundred years with nothing to do but think and you come up with ‘a lot.’”

“It’s a perfectly good description,” Zelda says crisply, her accent sharpening back into the razor-edged formality of court protocol. It’s hard to keep her face deadpan, harder than it used to be, but she manages it. “No one else has experienced a century of struggle with an embodiment of chaos and evil and lived to tell the tale so I think I’m allowed to describe it however I want.”

It’s meant lightly, but her words hit them both as accurately and as deeply as though they’d been fired from a bow. Zelda feels the hitch in his breath, watches his face crumple, and _Goddess_ her heart _hurts_ , it hurts in a way she’d forgotten she could feel in her years as not-a-person. They end up on the ground, tangled together, her legs sprawled over his lap, holding each other like they might be torn apart as they sob full-force into each other's shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he keeps saying, over and over, his hands signing the words into her back at the same time. “I’m sorry I took so long, I’m sorry I forgot, I’m sorry, _I’m sorry_ \--”

“I know,” she says into his tunic, her hands fisted so tightly into the fabric her knuckles creak, “I’m sorry I had to do it, I’m sorry you forgot, I’m sorry you had to save me again, I’m sorry I didn’t figure it out sooner--” and then the individual words stop mattering. They’re both sorry and they’re both guilty and they’re both forgiven and it’s far too early to say but Zelda thinks they find something like absolution there, washing away their sins and failures with tears and heartbreak. The sun disappears behind a cloud and emerges again in the time it takes them to calm down, and Link lifts his head from her shoulders to smile at something behind her, his eyes still wet.

“There you are,” he says, getting a whicker in response, and Zelda finally parses the hoofbeats on grass that she now realizes she was hearing a moment before. She twists in his arms to look at the source of the sound, blinks, and follows the black legs up and up and up and _up_. She’s new to having eyes again and wonders, for a long moment, if they’ve betrayed her, and then Link reaches a hand up to pat the enormous black nose as it comes down to lip at him and she realizes this monstrous equine vision is real.

“You ride that thing?” she asks, her voice still a bit unsteady, and Link nods, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “You saw her,” he says. “During--” and he gestures at the blackened circle of grass where Ganon used to be.

“I don’t think I could fully parse her at the time,” she says weakly, as the horse leans her head down to mouth at Link’s pack. “She’s very big.”

“What can I say,” Link says, his smile wobbling. “I heard people talk about a big horse and I just had to have her. Tulip, _get off_ , I will get you an apple in a minute.” He shoves at the massive black head until she reluctantly trots off a few steps to nose at a patch of unburnt grass.

“Tulip,” Zelda says. “You found a horse the size of a Lynel with a mane like fire and you named her _Tulip_.” She manages to unfist one hand from his tunic to pat him on the shoulder. “Congratulations,” she says. “You remain the most ridiculous person I know.”

“I’ve always been a winner,” he deadpans, shifting around under her, and he tightens his arms carefully as he hauls them both back to standing. Was he always this strong, she wonders as he settles her cautiously on her own two feet, or has he trained even harder since he woke up? She seems to be getting used to having senses again, and manages to stay upright of her own volition as he slowly takes his hands away. Her useless betrayal of a body immediately misses his touch and she levels a glare down at herself like that will cow it into submission.

 _Can you walk?_ he asks, now that his hands are free, and she feels a sharp stab of guilt that she wants him to silence his preferred way of speaking just for her pointless selfish physical wants. It takes her a moment after that to parse his question, and she looks down at her feet (still in those ridiculous sandals, Hylia save her she’s going to burn this _whole outfit_ ) with a frown.

“Let’s find out,” she says, half a question, and takes a hesitant step forward. That one works, though she feels as wobbly as a fresh filly, and the next step is a success as well. With a newfound confidence she tries to stride the way she used to, the way her body remembers moving, and immediately realizes her mistake as she stumbles and collapses. She collides with Link’s chest for the second time and huffs out a frustrated breath into his collar.

“Looks like no,” she says, using the solidity of his body to push back upright. “I forgot having a body is so _complicated_.”

He mutters something under his breath that sounds like _Tell me about it_ and tucks one arm under her legs, swinging her up so he can carry her like a baby, or a swooning maiden, which she supposes she sort of is but she doesn’t have to _like_ it, except for how she does very much like it because it lets her nestle deeper into his warmth. Is she… _cold?_ “Oh!” she says out loud, surprised. Link glances a question at her as he heads toward the frankly inappropriately large horse and she shakes her head in what she hopes is a reassuring way. “I’m cold,” she explains, eyes on where her fingers absently play with the fabric of his tunic. “I haven’t been cold for a long time. I forgot how it felt.” She bites her lower lip, savoring the feeling of teeth and flesh and _sensation_. “I have a feeling there’s going to be a lot of things I forgot about.”

Link carefully deposits her back on her feet next to Tulip’s mighty foreleg, hands on her shoulders until she’s steady. _I can try to help with that_ , he signs with a lopsided, forlorn sort of smile. _I have some experience with forgetting_.

Zelda barks a shaky laugh, covering her mouth with her hand, her eyes watering again. “Goddesses, we’re a mess, aren’t we?”

 _Gotta start somewhere,_ he signs with a shrug, and she finds she has nothing to say to that. Link digs in his pack for a moment and pulls out a woolen hood with a half cape and a sturdy tunic. _They won’t fit quite right,_ he tells her, clothes draped over the crook of one elbow to free his hands, _but they should do until we can find you something better._

Somehow they get her into the tunic, her tangled hair tucked into the hood, and it’s too broad in the shoulder and only the slits on the side allow it over her hips, but she’s immensely more comfortable with something on over the flimsy ritual dress. Getting her on the horse is another challenge, one that ends with Link basically throwing her over the saddle and then climbing up so he can help her get situated. Every time she moves her body she gets better at it, at least, old muscle memory returning, and she ends up sidesaddle behind him, her arms around his waist and her chin tucked over his shoulder as Tulip clops placidly away from the castle and the blackened grass and churned up mud where they finally fulfilled their destiny. It hits her, suddenly, that the prophecy never mentioned what came _after_. She spent so long despairing of ever awakening her power, and then even longer using it to keep the Calamity at bay, half-sealed, that she never thought about what would happen if they succeeded. She lets out a little hysterical giggle, and Link gestures a question at her with one hand, turning his head so he can catch her out of the corner of his eye. She shakes her head and pats him on the flank in what she hopes is a reassuring way, because words are still hard and she can’t even begin to explain. He huffs half a laugh and turns back forward, so maybe he understands more than he lets on.

They ride for an indeterminate amount of time, and Zelda shuts her eyes against the assault of _vision_ and lets herself drift on her other senses for a time. It almost feels like being Hylia again, sensing rather than seeing, but without the constant assault of the Calamity trying to claw its way into her heart. The further they get from the castle the more the scents change, fresh grass and flowers and the wet clean smell of rain on stone. There are birds again, and the occasional rustle of something startling in the underbrush, and the steady, impeccable clopping of Tulip’s massive hooves. Without trying she slips into a trance, the kind she used to seek under the statues of the Goddess, and it feels as comfortable as slipping into her own bed. (She has a brief pang of mourning for that bed, rotted away after a century. It was a good bed and she’ll miss it.)

“Princess?” Link asks, quietly, and she startles back to consciousness, her arms tightening around his waist automatically. She looks at him, and his eyes are so blue it surprises her all over again. “Sorry,” she says, blinking furiously in the golden sunset light, and then she realizes they must have been riding for _hours_.

 _You okay?_ he drops the reins to ask, and Zelda sits a little further upright, lifting her chin from his shoulder. _You seemed pretty out of it_.

“Trance,” she says, looking around. There’s a stream nearby, pooling occasionally into small almost-ponds, a huge old maple tree, and what looks like the remains of several campfires. They’re probably halfway to the Dueling Peaks, she guesses, squinting into the distance at the shape of the shattered mountain. Far enough that they could perhaps have made it there by riding hard, but she doesn’t blame Link for not wanting to follow the fight of the century with several hours at a gallop. It wouldn’t be good for the horse, either, a hard ride like that, even if it seems like Tulip could run to the edge of the continent without much trouble.

 _We’ll stay here for the night_ , he tells her, half turning in the saddle so she doesn’t have to read his hands entirely from the back. _It’s clear of monsters. We should be safe enough_.

“Great,” Zelda says, nodding. “Good. Fantastic.” She pauses and looks down down down to the packed dirt under Tulip’s hooves. “Given my previous struggles with muscular control,” she says, science covering her trepidation as it has so many times before, “I am not entirely sure if I will be able to dismount your horse in a competent manner.”

Link laughs, and she _loves_ it, loves watching the way it lights up his face and the warm knowledge that it’s because of her. _That’s what I’m here for,_ he signs, then carefully disentangles her arms from around his waist. He makes sure she has a steady grip on the saddle before he slings his leg over and slides easily to the ground. His hands reach up for her expectantly and Zelda has to suppress a shudder at how much she already misses his touch, even as he promises it to her again. She keeps her careful grip on the saddle and shifts her hips off the horse, trying to control her descent as best she can. It goes better than she was expecting, actually, and she reaches the ground safely, Link there to steady and support her when she wobbles. “Okay,” she says, clutching at his shoulder again as she glares at her feet. “Okay, I’m going to try this again.” Two steps, using him practically as a crutch, and then two more, and then two more after that, and by the time she makes it to the charred remains of some other traveler’s campfire she’s only pressing a hand against him for balance every few steps, mostly moving under her own power.

“Oh,” she says, giddy and exhausted, as Link gently helps her sink to a rock next to the sooty stone circle. “Oh, that’s much better.” She beams up at him, triumphant, and he pats her on the shoulder before he signs, _You’ll be running away from me again in no time._

“I won’t,” she says immediately, catching his hand before he can turn back to Tulip. She tugs until he’s facing her, and something in her eyes makes him drop to one knee in front of her, like he had back at the beginning of all this, on a stone circle surrounded by the other Champions. “I’m not leaving, Link,” she says, the force of her words surprising even her. “I’m not going to leave you alone, not this time.” He meets her eyes, something raw and vulnerable again there in the blue, and he clasps her hand between both of this for a long moment. He looks like he wants to say something, but the words never come, and he finally just nods and squeezes her hand. He jerks his head over the shoulder at the horse, tugging at her grip just slightly, and Zelda flushes and releases his fingers.

 _Do you want to wash?_ he asks after Tulip’s tack is off but before he rubs the horse down. He gestures at one of the pools from the stream, which at a glance looks deep enough for a good scrub, if probably freezing cold. Zelda groans aloud at the idea of being _clean_ again. Hylia’s magic preserved her for a century, but it preserved her as she went into the castle--terrified, cold, and _absolutely filthy_. “ _Please_ ,” she says, tugging off his hood and setting it carefully aside. “I have been covered in mud for a _hundred years_.”

 _I’d noticed,_ he tells her, digging soap and a towel out of his ridiculous magical pack. She’s never been so grateful to the Koroks in her life as he pulls out a comb, a second towel, and a bottle of what looks like it might be hair oil and adds them to the pile. She narrows her eyes at him, not sure if she’s being insulted. He glances back up to meet her gaze and his mouth crooks when he signs, _We were very close on the horse and… Well, you smell bad._

Zelda’s mouth drops open in shock. “You’re one to talk!” she sputters, balling up his hood and throwing it into his face. “You smell like a giant horse!”

 _That’ll happen_ , he agrees easily, carrying the bundle of bathing supplies over to the pool of water. He pulls off a glove and dips his fingers in, testing the temperature. _Definitely_ freezing, if she’s judging by the grimace on his face correctly. This is going to be a miserable bath, but she’s willing to suffer for it. Link apparently has other ideas, since he jogs back to his pack, roots around inside, and then pulls out a comically _massive_ sword, glowing with what she can instantly identify as fire magic. He carries it back over to the pool, narrows his eyes at it as he judges the currents, and submerges the sword in a location of his own arcane choosing.

“Are you using a Greater Flameblade to heat my bathwater?” Zelda asks, her eyebrows rising along with the pitch of her voice, and Link meets her eyes and nods smugly. _They’re useful_ , he signs without a hint of shame. She supposes she can’t argue with that and, with a mighty effort, manages to climb gracelessly back to her feet. Link practically bolts back to her side, hands hovering around her waist and elbow, but she stays him with a gesture and walks with careful, deliberate steps the twenty feet or so over to her improvised hot spring. She collapses gracelessly onto a rock and removes her sandals with a single-minded intensity once reserved only for her studies and prayers.

She is having this bath, and no power in the universe can stop her.

 _I’ll find you something else to wear,_ Link tells her, sinking into a crouch to bring his hands into her field of vision. _I won’t_ \--he starts, and then his hands falter, twitching awkwardly with not-quite-words. When she raises her gaze to his face he’s red all the way to the tips of his ears, his eyes on her calves under the hem of her much-battered dress. He drags his eyes away, up to her face, startles when he realizes he was caught looking, and glances away, back toward Tulip. _I won’t look_ , he signs finally, his hands jerking through the movements nervously, _but if you need help call for me and I--I’ll figure something out_.

“Thank you,” she says in her most regal tones, smothering the urge to smile or blush or lean forward and kiss him right on his adorable flushed cheeks. “I appreciate both your concern and your respect for my privacy.”

 _Good_ , he manages. _That’s--that’s good_. And then he flees, back over to Tulip and the not-yet-a-campfire. She keeps an eye on him as she peels out of his tunic and the absolutely ruined dress and her century old underthings. True to his word, he keeps his back resolutely to her, only flinching when she scoots her way to the edge of the pool and flops in with an ungainly splash. Even then he doesn’t actually look, although he clearly wants to, his hands twitching and his head turning minutely to the side. “I’m good,” she calls, because his worry is sweet and well-placed--she did, after all, collapse on him twice so far today. His shoulders drop in relief and Zelda sighs and swimwalks her way closer to the Flameblade, glowing orange and flickering under the ripples in the water. It’s warmer the nearer she is to it, the pool deep enough that she can easily get her shoulders under by crouching, not so deep that she has to be concerned about _actually_ swimming. She doesn’t think that would go well with her body as confused as it currently is.

Zelda sighs, shuts her eyes, and dunks her head under the surface. She floats there for a long moment, surrounded and buoyed up by the warmth of the water, soaking away the lingering chill from the air and the evil cold still clinging to her bones, and breaks back into the sunlight with a sigh and a gasp. “Warm water,” she says aloud, making her way over to the soap, “is the best gift the gods ever gave us.”

Link gestures agreement over his shoulder from where he’s setting up a small tent. She smiles at his back and sets about scrubbing dirt from her body that’s so old it’s basically antique. Someone would probably buy that dirt. A true collector’s item. What a shame that she’s washing it all off in _literally_ the best bath she’s ever had. After a moment’s thought she scrubs out her underthings, as well, and spends a moment fiddling with the Flameblade until it’s half-out of the pool and she can hang the wet garments from the crossguard to dry quickly in its heat. It’s easier to move under the water, she discovers, easier to get her limbs to do what she wants without having to contend with her own body weight. She stretches and twists and practices walking back and forth across the rocky bottom as she washes, and by the time she’s rinsing suds from her hair she’s fairly well re-acquainted with _how to exist as a person_ , or, at least, as a person in a bath.

“Princess,” Link says, and when she looks up he’s closer, holding some clothes under his arm and staring resolutely at the campfire and away from her. “Is it safe?”

“I think you killed all the monsters already,” she says, smiling, and lowers herself under the water until she has her chin perched on the lip of the rocks. “But if you’re asking if you can turn around, the answer is yes.”

 _Were you always this sarcastic?_ he asks as he faces her, eyes still closed, and then opens one a sliver to squint at her. _That’s an actual question, not a rhetorical one._

“At first I was just mean and angry,” she says, frowning as she thinks back on it. “And then sarcasm wasn’t befitting a princess or a descendant of Hylia, so I had to be subtle about it. It’s always been in there, though, deep down. It’s quite freeing to let it out.”

 _That’s… Good?_ He walks closer and crouches, not close enough to see into the pool, but close enough that he can set the bundle he’s holding down with the towels and hairbrush. _This should fit all right, I think, and be comfortable enough to sleep in. Are you hungry?_

Zelda frowns harder, one hand drifting to her stomach automatically. “I think so?” she says, tilting her head a little. “It’s probably a good idea for me to eat, regardless.”

 _I made soup,_ he offers, and her stomach gives a sudden rumble, audible even from under the water. They make startled eye contact for a moment and then laugh so hard Link ends up losing his balance and sprawling backwards while Zelda has to hold on to the bank to keep from floating away. “Well,” she says, wiping her eyes with a wet hand, “I guess that’s an answer.”

 _I’ll finish up while you get dressed_ , he signs, climbing back to his feet. _Leave the soap, I’ll wash off the giant horse smell while you eat._

“A true hero,” Zelda teases, and her reward is watching his ears flush again in the dwindling sunset light. Climbing out of the pool is much harder than climbing into it was and involves an embarrassing amount of flopping, but the success is sweet. By the time she’s dried her body her underthings are dry as well, which means she isn’t _completely_ naked while she investigates what Link brought her to wear. It looks Sheikah made, at a glance, dark blue and soft and stretchy. It’s rather more snug a garment then she’s used to wearing, but that’s somehow comforting, as though the fabric is giving her a hug. It is also, and this cannot be overemphasized, _not the fucking filthy white dress_ , so it’s the best thing she’s ever worn. She does her best to squeeze most of the water out of her hair before she wraps it up in the second towel, rinses the mud off her sandals (why hadn’t she changed into her boots before she went to face Ganon? She could have packed a satchel or something, apparently), and totters back over to the fire with the comb and the hair oil.

“My hair might be a lost cause, honestly,” she tells his back as he leans over the cooking pot, adding something to the soup. “You can help me evaluate the damage in the morning.” He turns to reply, a spoon in one hand, and his eyes practically bug out of his head when he actually sees her in the Sheikah garments. His ears go instantly, _adorably_ red, the color spreading across his cheeks in a hot bloom, and his eyes rake over her from feet to face and back again. Zelda raises an eyebrow, because _really_ , and glances down at herself and--

Oh. Oh, the fabric is _quite_ snug, isn’t it? She knows logically that the only skin she’s showing is on her hands and face, but the cut of the garments and the stretch of the fabric means every curve or dip or ridge on her body is inappropriately visible. Well. She shakes her head, attempting to banish her embarrassment, because there’s simply nothing to be done, and she lifts her gaze back to Link in time to catch him staring, wide-eyed, at her breasts. Heat flashes through her, unexpected and startling, and she inhales a soft, sharp gasp.

The sound breaks him out of it, and he immediately snaps his head to the side, staring intently at the tent as though there’s anything interesting to be had in that direction. _Yeah_ , he signs, the spoon still awkwardly in one hand. _Yeah, that sounds good. Morning. Hair. Great._

Zelda stands there, frozen, her face pink and her heart racing. “Great,” she repeats. “Great. Yes. Um.” She blinks several times, trying to force away her blush with willpower alone. “I believe I was promised soup,” she manages after slightly too long of a pause.

“Oh!” Link says aloud, his whole body shaking once, like a dog casting off water. _Of course! I’m so sorry, here, do you need a hand?_

Zelda waves him off as she carefully settles herself on the stone again, setting aside the comb and oil so her hands are free to accept the bowl he pushes into them. “I’m fine, sir knight,” she says, curling her fingers around the sturdy wooden dish and letting the heat from the soup leech into them. “Go wash up, I can manage this soup without collapsing, I promise.”

He hesitates, worried eyes flicking back and forth between hers. _If you need anything--_ he starts, and Zelda cuts him off with a sharp gesture of her spoon. “If I need anything, I will call for you,” she says firmly. “Your loyalty is noted. You still smell of horse. I order you to go address that.”

Link smiles at her, a little sardonically, and sweeps her a half bow. “I live to serve, Princess,” he says, just barely audible, and pads off toward the stream. Zelda keeps her eyes on the fire and doesn’t turn to look as the soft sounds of shifting clothing drift across the space between them. That would be inappropriate. She _wants_ to, but she doesn’t. Her shoulders drop infinitesimally when she hears him splash into the water, and she lowers her eyes to her nearly forgotten soup.

Some instinct or old, half-remembered piece of reading keeps her from inhaling the whole bowl in a Link-like scramble, though she is sorely tempted from the first hit of broth on her tongue. It’s savory and spiced and perfectly salty, the bird meat and vegetables chopped finely enough that she hardly needs to chew. She forces herself to pretend she’s at a formal dinner, in front of the full court, and takes tiny, measured spoonfuls, pausing for a few breaths in between each one, so she doesn’t overload her stomach. It works, well enough that she’s only about two-thirds of the way through the bowl when Link slips back into the circle of firelight. He’s changed into loose trousers and a matching tunic, and has the towel around his shoulders, his hair rumpled and still damp. _Good?_ he asks once he’s put away the Flameblade and settled down next to the fire, his eyebrows raised in question.

“It’s delicious,” Zelda says fervently, savoring another mouthful. “This may be the best soup I’ve ever eaten.” His smile is beautiful and bashful, his eyes skittering away from hers. He looks like he can’t figure out what he wants to say next, and finally he turns back to her and signs, _You left this,_ holding out her discarded dress, now neatly folded. She looks at the dress for a long moment, thinking, and sets aside her bowl to accept it from him. Zelda runs her fingers over the abused fabric, meets Link’s eyes for what she judges to be a suitably dramatic pause, and throws it straight into the fire.

“What--” he blurts aloud, startled, and Zelda raises her hands and face to the sky beatifically and interrupts him with, “Blessed Hylia! We come before you today to commend back into your embrace the spirit of one of your most devoted servants.” She risks at glance at Link to find him watching her with wide eyes, his jaw hanging open, and she schools her face into shapes of religious fervor as she continues. “This gown has followed your teachings from sea to mountain, from hill to vale. It was spun from plants grown in this land, and now it will return to the land from whence it sprang. May it bask forever in your presence, O Hylia! So we hope, and so we pray.”

“And so we pray,” Link murmurs a beat behind her, in the traditional call-and-response, and when she looks at him this time his head is bowed, his hands folded, and his face perfectly deadpan. He glances up to meet her gaze and signs, _Its service will be sung about in legend._

“It deserved a hero’s burial, with all it’s been through,” Zelda agrees, picking her soup back up. She doesn’t speak again until she’s done with the bowl, which she relinquishes to Link so he can eat with slightly better table manners than just scarfing soup out of the cooking pot. She takes down her hair and massages the oil through it, trying and failing to work out the worst of the tangles with her fingers. It’s useless, she realizes, tugging at a particularly matted section up by the nape of her neck. It’ll all have to come off, which, as she wobbles on the stone and nearly falls over, she decides can wait until tomorrow.

 _Ready for bed?_ Link asks, suddenly there to prop her up as she starts to nod off again. “Good goddess, _yes_ ,” Zelda groans, leaning on him for support as she stands. “Let me go just--” she gestures vaguely in the direction of the woods, and Link guides her for a few steps until she can manage on her own. Relieving herself for the first time in a century is possibly the most relieved she has ever felt after that activity, and she staggers to the stream to wash her hands and discovers Link has left out tooth powder and a small cloth so she can clean her teeth properly before she passes out. “You are a prince among men,” she tells him, shuffling her way back into their camp.

 _Your palace awaits,_ he tells her, catching her under the elbow and helping her into the tent. The single bedroll is already spread out, and Zelda kicks off her sandals and crawls into it with a sigh that comes from her bones. There’s something bothering her, though, something about the setup of the tent, and as she rolls over onto her back to find Link smiling softly down at her she realizes what it is.

“Where are you sleeping?” she asks, blinking against the drowsiness, and Link looks away and rubs the back of his neck. _I’ll be fine,_ he tells her, _I don’t need much sleep_. Zelda stares at him for a long moment, processing that information, and then as he’s about to slip back out of the tent she mutters, “Like _hell_ ,” and lunges to catch him by the wrist.

“Stay,” she blurts, her face and ears going pink, but she doesn’t let go as he blinks at her, bewildered. “I can’t--” he starts, a matching blush rolling across his face, and she tugs on his wrist and says, in a rush, “You need to rest, and I’ve been alone for _so long_ , and I want you--”

Zelda cuts herself off with a deep breath and makes herself meet his gaze. She can barely see the blue of his eyes in the dimness of the tent, but she can tell he’s looking at her like he’s seeing her for the first time, or like she’s the Goddess incarnate again. “I would feel better with you near,” she tells him, feeling her ears heat even further, her heart thumping like a drum. “Please, if it won’t make you uncomfortable, will you stay with me?”

Link stares at her for a long, silent eternity, and she wonders if he can hear her heart beating against her ribs. When he moves it’s barely at all, just shifting his hand so he can grip her wrist the same way she’s clutching his. “Okay,” he says, squeezing his fingers, and she shivers and almost melts, the fight draining out of her. She releases his arm when he tugs against her grip, and he signs, _I have to break down the camp first, but I’ll be back in after._

“Thank you,” she says, dropping back down to the bedroll, sleep already wrapping itself around her. _I live to serve_ , he tells her before he disappears behind the canvas. Zelda curls up on her side and drifts on the gentle, early waves of unconsciousness, half-hearing him clean up their dishes and bank the coals of the fire. With a whisper of cloth he slips back into the tent, quiet thumps telling her he’s taken off his boots, and when he curls up against her she presses back into his chest and drops immediately into blissful, peaceful darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings from quarantine Breath of the Wild hell, I have been doing nothing but playing Zelda and reading Zelda fic so fuck it, we're doing this and we're naming it after a Hozier song because that's where I'm at. NO GODS NO MASTERS.


	2. Chapter 2

Zelda wakes up.

This is notable in and of itself, after so long without sleep or consciousness or change. It takes her longer than she’d generally like to admit to make sense of her surroundings, of the riot of sensory input. She’s sore, and she warm, and she’s groggy, and she’s rested, and her bladder is full, and her stomach is empty, and and _and_ \--

She’s alone in the tent. She pushes up onto an elbow and blinks at in the shadows of the canvas, light peeking in around the cracks where the flap has been imperfectly tied shut. This investigation confirms the lack of another person in her immediate presence, and when she presses her hand against the impression of another body in the bedroll, the fabric is cool to the touch. For a brief moment she wonders if she imagined the whole thing, if Link never came for her and this is another one of the Calamity’s illusions, trying to worm its way under her defenses, but she can hear off-key humming from outside the tent, mixed with the sound of utensils scraping against metal. She recognizes the song--it’s a traditional Gerudo folk song, and by traditional she means _incredibly bawdy_. This new Link seems easier with her, less formal than the Link she remembers, but she’s certain that if he knew the Hylian translation of the lyrics he would rather cut off his own arm than sing it in her presence. There is no possible way this is the Calamity--not even its wildest attempts to entrap her were anything like this. She slumps back down in relief, rolls over, and presses her face into the bedroll. It smells like Link, like freedom, like _home_ , and she gathers the fabric into her arms and curls herself around it, trying to take him as deep into her lungs as she can, as though she could make him part of her by force of will alone.

She doesn’t cry, although it’s a near thing. Her physical needs are pressing enough that she releases the bedroll with a sigh and shuffles on her sandals. The first order of business will be getting her some boots, she decides as she climbs to her feet. It’s good to have a plan, it makes her feel more in control of things. As she pulls the canvas back and steps, blinking, into the morning light, she smells omelets and immediately revises her plan, because omelets are now the first order of business, and then she revises it again because her bladder is the _first_ order of business, omelets are the second, and boots are the third.

By the time she’s returned from her trip to the woods Link has rolled an omelet for her and has it waiting on her rock expectantly. She sits down, easily, without collapsing, and picks up the bowl. She blinks, surprised, and raises her eyes to him, brows quirked in a question.

_You like mushroom omelets,_ he tells her, the gestures hesitant, as though he’s asking her as much as making a statement. _You prefer stamellas more than Hylian, but like rushrooms best._ His eyes are on hers, intent, seeking confirmation, and Zelda blinks hard against the rush of emotion, her fingers curling against the wooden bowl. “You remembered,” she breathes, and he flashes a quick, triumphant smile.

_This morning_ , he confirms as he adds mushrooms to his own omelet. _As soon as I cracked the eggs._ He goes back to humming the folk song as he cooks, and she suppresses a wicked grin over her breakfast.

“Where did you learn that song?” she asks innocently between bites. It tastes like stamella mushrooms, not rushrooms, and while Link is correct that she prefers the latter, the former are probably a better idea. She’s physically much better but still a bit wobbly, and she’ll need stamina more than speed while she regains her bearings.

_Gerudo Town_ , he answers absently, adding some salt to the pot. _They sing it in the bar a lot. I think it’s a drinking song_.

“Mm,” she confirms, taking another bite. “Do you know the words?”

He shakes his head. _Only in Gerudo_. She smiles at him, guileless, and he narrows his eyes at her in sudden suspicion. _Do you?_

“I do,” she says briskly and polishes off her omelet, passing the bowl to him so he can plate up his own. “It’s called ‘The Sleeping Voe’s Prize.’” Link’s eyes go wide with realization, and she keeps her face and voice calm with an effort. “Roughly translated, a Hylian man goes swimming nude on a hot day, and then he falls asleep on the shore under a towel. Three Gerudo are passing by and they see him and take the opportunity to do some _investigation_.” His face goes redder with each word she says, his jaw dropping, and if she keeps looking at him she’ll start laughing so she trains her gaze into the distance and folds her hands thoughtfully. “After they lift the towel and see what is to be seen, one thinks they should leave a gift as a thank-you, so another takes a ribbon from her hair, and the third ties it around the… _Object_ of their interest.” She risks a glance at him briefly, just long enough to catch Link’s shoulders shaking with suppressed, horrified laughter. “When he wakes up later, unaware of their visit, and removes the towel, he looks down and says--”

“‘Lad, I don’t know where ye’ve been, but I see ye won first prize!’” Link wheezes in a wobbly tenor, claps his hands over his red face, and pitches backward to cackle almost silently on the ground.

“Ah, you _do_ know it,” Zelda says cheerfully, leaning over to steal his abandoned omelet. It’s gone cold but it’s still delicious, and she sets to work on it while he’s distracted.

“They used to sing it in the barracks--different tune, same plot,” he says, hands still over his face, sprawled on his back in the dirt. “Goddesses smite me now. Bury me under the earth so no one ever finds out the princess heard me accidentally singing a song about--” Link cuts himself off so hard his teeth click together rather than finish the sentence.

“About cocks?” she says smoothly, taking another bite of her stolen omelet, and Link actually _squawks_ a horrified “ _Princess!_ ” as he bolts back to sitting. He looks utterly scandalized, first by her language and then by her thievery. “Hey--what--you can’t just--” he sputters, and then switches back to signing as his voice abandons him. _You never used to swear,_ he accuses, giving up on his omelet as hopeless and turning back to the cooking pot to start another.

“No,” Zelda realizes, her hand stilling on her fork. “It wasn’t appropriate for the princess of Hyrule to swear, so I didn’t. Then after--after it all happened I didn’t have a reason not to. And then I spent a lot of time swearing creatively at the Calamity while I was--” she gestures vaguely back toward the castle “--because it was something to pass the time, and appropriate language didn’t seem strong enough.” She stares unseeing into the middle distance, her brow furrowed, and shrugs. “Got into the habit of it, I suppose.” Her shoulders hunch in a little, because she hadn’t really considered… “Does it bother you?” she asks, guts twisting a little.

“No,” Link says immediately, since both his hands are involved with rolling his replacement omelet. “I was just surprised. And supremely embarrassed.” He holds out one hand for the bowl, and she passes it over again and stretches her arms over her head, luxuriating in the morning light and the crack of her spine and having fingers again, that she can pretend to be able to catch the sky with them. When she comes back to herself Link’s eyes are glued somewhere below her collarbone, and he startles and almost drops his omelet in the dirt when she catches him looking. Something flutters deep in her stomach, something that makes her feel warm and powerful. She says the first thing that comes to mind to distract them both, which turns out to be “You talk more than you used to.”

She regrets it immediately, as Link flinches and curls away from her, protectively hunching over his breakfast. “Does it bother you?” he asks, a quiet echo of her earlier words, and she practically flings herself at him, clutching at his sleeve. “No!” she blurts, grabbing his arm with both hands. “I used to _wish_ you’d talk to me more! Please don’t stop, or, or think you’re annoying me, or anything like that! It’s just… It’s just different. That’s all.”

Link exhales a long breath, still not looking at her. Zelda waits in anguished silence for him to collect his thoughts, which feels longer than the century she spent locked in an astral prison. “I know I’ve changed,” he says quietly, glancing at her sidelong and then away. “I know I’m not what you were expecting, and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Link,” she says fervently. “Never apologizing for changing. That’s what people _do_. It’s how you know they’re _alive_.” She lets out a short, bitter laugh and drops her forehead against his shoulder. “Fuck, I’m not the same person I was when I went to the castle a hundred years ago. How could I _not_ change, after that experience? Am I what _you_ were expecting?”

He breathes in and out, deep and slow, and tugs his arm in her grip until she releases it. They shift a little until they’re angled together, her right knee pressed against his left, and he sets down the bowl and admits, _I tried not to let myself expect anything._ His hands shake as he moves them though the signs, and she sets her hand on his knee and squeezes it. It takes him another long breath to collect himself before he continues. _I was afraid you’d just be gone. When I let myself hope, I just hoped I’d get to see you like the others--their spirits, when I freed the Divine Beasts._ He glances up at her, eyes wet with anguish and so, so blue, and looks away. _I just hoped I’d get to say goodbye this time._

“Oh, Link,” Zelda breathes, and she lurches forward to yank him into a graceless hug. He narrowly avoids putting his hand into his omelet as he catches his balance and then curls into her, his forehead tucked into her neck and his arms holding her tight. They don’t _actually_ cry, but it’s a near thing, inhaling with shaky lungs. When his trembling stops she pulls back so she can see his face and manages to summon a smile. “So not at all what you were expecting, then?” she asks, hands resting on his shoulder and upper arm. “What with the capacity for hugs and all.”

_I also wasn’t expecting you to say fuck_ , Link signs, the movements abbreviated so he doesn’t dislodge her touch. (She has to use context clues to figure out that last sign, because he’s certainly never used it in her presence before.) He grins, a flash of mischief in his eyes. _And I swear, if I thought you were going to have a body again I would have thought ahead and brought you some decent clothes_.

“If I had thought I was going to have a body again,” Zelda says, longsuffering, handing him back his long-ignored omelet and settling onto her rock, “I would have taken the time to change before I went to the castle. Or at least braided my fucking hair.” She tries to run her fingers through the tangled mass and winces as they immediately get caught up in an impossible snarl. Her sigh is deep and heartfelt.

“That bad?” Link asks between bites as he neatly inhales his breakfast. Zelda tracks his fork as it goes from bowl to mouth in the shortest route possible. She’s always found it fascinating to watch him eat--he’s not a messy eater in the least, he’s just _efficient_. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him spill, not once, because, as he’d told her when pressed some hundred years before, “Food goes in the mouth, Princess.” His lips close around a forkful of omelet with a smooth, practiced motion, and she shakes herself and tracks her gaze up to his eyes instead of _staring at his fucking beautiful mouth._

“It’s unsalvageable,” she says flatly. “When you’re done eating I need you to cut it.”

He blinks and the fork pauses in its circuit for a bare second, which she knows means he’s actually quite shocked. “Are you sure? I have the comb, and probably more oil somewhere. I can try and detangle it for you.”

“Unless you have actual magic hairdressing powers and have just been holding out on me this whole time, it’ll have to come off,” she says as he demolishes the rest of his breakfast. “It might not look that bad, but I assure you, it’s a nightmare. Here, see for yourself.” She snags his hand, empty now that he’s set the bowl aside, and pulls it up, feeds it into the hair at the nape of her neck so he can feel the matted section there, which was a _terrible mistake_ because now their faces are less than a foot apart and his bare fingers brush against the sensitive skin just below her hairline and her skin feels very tight and very hot all of a sudden.

“Oh,” Link says softly, barely a breath, and he slides his fingertips into her hair, ghosting them against her scalp. Zelda shudders all the way down to her toes, feeling her ears and cheeks pink at this new sensation, shocking in its intimacy. It never felt like _this_ when her handmaidens styled her hair, never this feeling of too much and not enough at the same time. His fingers crook, scritching her a bit, she abruptly realizes why cats purr. His touch tingles its way up and down her spine on little prickling feet and it’s only years of regimented training in self-control that keeps her from slumping forward against his shoulder and begging him never to stop. He stills for what is probably only a few seconds but feels like several years, his eyes flicking back and forth between hers, and she supposes he approves of what he sees because he pushes his fingers a little more surely into her hair, cradling her head, and _Goddesses_ how does this feel so good--

“Ow!” Zelda hisses as he finds the mat accidentally, yanking at the roots, and Link freezes. “Shit, sorry,” he apologizes immediately and withdraws his fingers from her actual hair, tracing them carefully over the knotted mess instead. “Oh,” he says, again, in a completely different tone of voice, crawling a little closer on his knees and using his other hand to lift the rest of the blonde mass out of the way. She feels him investigate the state of her hair, his hands careful and sure, and he settles the tangles down and sits back to regard her with chagrined eyes. Is his face pink? She thinks it might be.

_You weren’t kidding,_ he tells her. _That’s a real conundrum you’ve got there._

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Zelda asks primly, one eyebrow raised, pretending like she has any level of composure left at all.

_It seemed more polite than calling it a fucking disaster,_ Link offers with a straight face, and Zelda snorts an intensely undignified laugh. It breaks the lingering spell of awkward intimacy, and they clean up after breakfast in companionable silence, reconvening on the rock next to the fire pit. Link turns out to have a pair of scissors in the apparently-infinite enchanted pack, part of a mending kit full of thread and extra clasps and spare yarn to darn his socks with. She finds it utterly charming.

“What, no Master Sword?” Zelda teases to cover her nerves as he drapes a towel around her shoulders, carefully laying her hair across it and gently moving a lock to and fro as he arranges it to his satisfaction.

“I was specifically told not to use it for frivolous activities, and since this is only incidentally and not directly caused by Ganon, I don’t think this is a Master Sword-level task,” he says from behind her, and she knows if she turns around he’ll have the little furrowed line between his brows he always gets when regarding a new challenge. “How short do you want this?”

“Well, we have to take out the Calamity Hair Mat,” she says, working through it logically, and smiles when she hears his snort. “I’d like to be able to pull or braid the top back to keep it out of my face, so probably chin length or just below.” She does turn then, curving up one side of her mouth and looking up at him through her lashes. “If you think you can handle that, Sir Knight.”

“I live to serve,” he says softly, one hand landing on her head with gentle pressure. Link’s smile is a little private thing, something she thinks maybe she wasn’t even meant to see. Her heart thumps in her chest once, hard, and in the time it takes her to inhale his face changes into that thoughtful frown she was expecting. “Now,” he says, his voice and his grip firm as he turns her head to face forward again. “Hold still. I’ll try not to ruin this.”

“You cannot _possibly_ make it worse,” she mutters under her breath, and then his hand is at her nape and she can sense the scissors near her skin and she goes silent and still as a rabbit facing down a wolf.

_Snickt_. She feels a great tangle of hair drift away.

_Snickt._ The mat is gone, mostly, the remaining mangled pieces tugging at her scalp in an uncomfortable way.

_Snickt._ The tugging ceases, and she feels something heavy and warm slither down her spine, suppresses a shudder because it’s _weird_ , even weirder than anything else her new, confused body has experienced.

_Snickt_. A great weight drops from her skull. She feels light. She could be floating right now, she could be back in Hylia’s embrace, incorporeal and eternal, except that Link’s fingers settle against her scalp again, gently carding through what remains after his work with the scissors. Zelda sighs, shuts her eyes, and sags back into his touch. “Is it done?” she asks, vaguely, and he huffs a laugh and (unfortunately) takes his hands away.

“I have to even it out,” he says, and then his hands are back, along with the comb, carefully working out the remaining tangles from the bottom-up, until he can run it through her hair from root to tip in a slow, even slide. “Oh,” she replies after probably too long a pause. “I see.”

His hands still. “Have you never had a haircut before, Princess?”

Zelda rouses herself from where she seems to have melted into a Chuchu long enough to say, “No. Only ever trims, and those rarely.” She waves a hand, eyes still closed, praying he’ll go back to combing her hair without her having to beg for it aloud. “Princessing. Tradition. Etcetera.”

“Ah.” The comb moves again, and Zelda bites back a sigh of relief. “This is going to be a bit of a change, then.”

“‘S how I know I’m alive,” she manages, and that’s the last thing she says for a while as the scissors return, the quiet _snicksnicksnick_ of the blades and Link’s thoughtful hmms the only thing she can hear. Without trying she slips into something like a goddess-touched trance, but better, relaxed and free and with warmth sparking across her skin, up her spine, out to her fingers and toes. It’s just so _easy_ to let go with Link here, to trust him to protect her, to trust him not to judge her, to just _be_.

“Are you asleep?”

Zelda startles, her eyes snapping open, to find Link kneeling in front of her, comb in one hand and an eyebrow raised. “No,” she says defensively, and ruins it by yawning.

“I see,” he says, mouth quirking, and leans over her to remove the towel. His arms encircle her for the briefest of moments and Zelda has to resist the urge to press her face into his neck. “I think I did all right,” he says, folding up the towel to trap as much of her discarded hair on the inside as possible. “How does it feel?”

She frowns and raises her hands to her scalp, turning her head to test the movement--

“ _Oh_ ,” she says, delighted. “Oh, Link, it feels _amazing_.” Zelda runs her fingers through her hair, so quickly, so easily, and tosses her head. “I feel so _light_ ,” she breathes, rolling out her neck, feeling the sun on her nape above the collar of her tunic. It’s the truth, in more ways that one--it’s like her hair was the weight of all her old responsibilities, her old life, her old pressures, bearing down on her, constantly pulling her into the darkness and away from the sun. The hair is gone, though, along with the weight of those expectations and requirements, and she’s suddenly, blissfully _free_. She will never be that princess again, she decides in an instant, her jaw firming. Zelda might not know what the future holds, or what she wants, or even where they’re going next, but she makes a choice right then and there, head and heart soaring and her knight on his knees in front of her: no one will ever tell her what kind of person she should be again. “How does it look?” she asks, running her hands through it again and reveling in how fast it goes.

“Beautiful,” he says, so softly she’s not sure she actually heard him, and he’s not looking at her hair. She makes startled eye contact, pink spreading across her face again, and Link blinks at her, shakes himself, and casts his gaze elsewhere in a flash of blue like light off sapphire. “I mean--I got it as even as I could,” he says in a rush. “We might need to find someone to clean it up, and I--um--” He digs in his pack, ears flushing, and comes out with the tunic he lent her the day before. _I thought you might want to wear this, over--_ and he gestures in the direction of her breasts, then realizes what he’d done and gestures in the direction of her hips, which he seems to think is _worse_ , so he finally just shoves the tunic into her hands and flees over to the tent. Zelda stares after him, bemused, as he starts breaking it down with wordless intensity. She looks down at the Sheikah garments thoughtfully and arches her back just a touch, pressing her chest forward. She narrows her eyes at the way the fabric strains across her curves and runs her tongue over her teeth. This has… potential. He is at least partially correct--she doesn’t relish the idea of everyone _else_ staring at her breasts, so she shrugs into the looser tunic and goes to help him stow the tent.

_You’re moving better_ , he tells her as they pack away the last of their camp and regroup next to Tulip. “I am,” she says, flexing her toes in her sandals with a satisfying amount of control. “I think sleeping helped.” A beat passes while she looks up approximately three hundred feet to Tulip’s saddle. “I still don’t think I can get on your horse, though.”

Link laughs and drops to a knee, holding his cupped hands out together. “Are you afraid of a sweet thing like Tulip?” he asks as he boosts her up until she can get one foot into the stirrup and swing her other leg over the saddle. It’s a stretch on her hips, but a pleasant one, and it feels so _right_ to be properly astride a horse again that she sighs in something like bliss.

“I’m not _afraid_ of Tulip,” she insists as Link takes a running start and launches himself into the saddle in front of her. “I just don’t think it’s wise to currently test my physical limitations by attempting to mount this monster myself.”

_Tulip isn’t a monster,_ she reads over his shoulder as she settles herself behind him, arms around his waist again, trying to be subtle about the fact that she’s absolutely, positively sniffing his collar. _I tried to register an actual monster once, but my poor Stalhorse crumbled when the sun rose and I couldn’t get her back._ His face, out of the corner of her eye, is so wistful that it takes her a second to parse his statement.

“You rode a _Stalhorse?_ ” she squeaks, keeping her voice low with an effort since she’s right next to his ear. He nods and kicks Tulip up into an easy trot, ignoring the reins so he can continue their conversation. _And a deer, and a bear, and the Lord of the Forest once, and a few Lynels but they were trying to kill me at the time._ His brow creases and he radiates a disgruntled sort of energy when he adds, _I tried to ride a moose but it wouldn’t let me_.

Zelda stares at the side of his face for probably a full minute, trying to figure out if he’s joking. “You are ridiculous,” she tells him. “You are a fresh nightmare.”

_How is this a surprise?_ he asks, eyes glinting. _You’ve_ **_met_ ** _me. And you said you were watching over me. I assumed you knew._

“I wasn’t watching that closely,” she says, still reeling. “I could tell your general location and state of health, but not the details, most of the time. Thank Hylia, because otherwise I apparently would have come out of the castle with my hair gone white from worrying.”

_You’d fit right in with the Sheikah, then_ , he offers, and she smiles and presses her cheek into his shoulder. It’s an embarrassingly long amount of time later when she realizes something and raises her head to ask, “Link?”

He glances at her, hands on Tulip’s reins as they trot through a copse of trees, sunlight casting dappled shadows across his golden face.

“Where are we _going?_ ”

Link’s eyebrows shoot up and then back down in a complicated realization, and he shifts Tulip down to a walk with a gesture, looping the reins over the pommel so he can reply. _That’s up to you. We’re heading toward Dueling Peaks stable. I have a few horses boarded there, so we can get you your own. From there we can head up into the mountains to Kakariko Village. Impa would love to see you, if that’s what you want._

Oh, _Impa_. Zelda blinks away the sting of tears. She knows Impa’s alive, could sense her as Hylia, but the idea of seeing her old friend and mentor in the flesh again is a want so acute it _aches_. “What’s the other potential choice? And please say there’s only two, I’m too fresh in the world again for multiple choice questions.”

He laughs, sunlight flashing across his face in the instant he does, and turns to face her more fully, his face going solemn again. _I have a house in Hateno Village,_ he tells her, his movements hesitant. _I thought… I thought if you wanted some time to yourself, after_ \-- he gestures back over his shoulder at the now-distant castle behind them -- _that I could take you there._ He chews the inside of his cheek, eyes darting between her and the trees, and Zelda realizes he’s _nervous_.

“You’d share your home with me?” she asks, heart trying to break her ribs with its reaction. She thinks that her time as Hylia made her forget how to handle emotions as well as her limbs, because there’s a complicated welter of things she’s feeling right now and she can’t quite tease them all out, just knows they’re swirling around Link like he’s the eye of the hurricane. She wants, very badly, to kiss him, and she drags her eyes away from the little indent at the corner of his mouth so she can watch his hands as he answers.

_Of course,_ he tells her. _I live to serve, Princess_. He drops one hand to cover hers, where she’s holding on to his waist, and squeezes it tentatively. Oh spirits, now she _really_ wants to kiss him. How dare her knight be so kind and noble and beautiful. It’s fucking rude, is what it is.

“I would like to see Impa,” she decides, because if she’s talking then she’s not using her mouth to kiss him absolutely senseless. “She probably has news I should hear sooner rather than later, and if I’m going to be potentially tripping over my own feet for the next week I’d prefer to do it around people who understand why. After, though…” Zelda presses her hot cheek to Link’s shoulder and interlaces her fingers with his. “I would like to see your house in Hateno.”

His shoulders drop a touch and she feels tension leech out of his frame. “Okay,” he says quietly, squeezing her fingers once before he withdraws his hand. Tulip bounces back up into a trot, so she supposes he probably picked up the reins again. The leafy shadows give way back into full sun again, and Zelda closes her eyes and soaks up the warmth on her back and the warmth against her front and thinks about nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. That is a real folk song, it's called The Scotsman's Kilt. Folk songs are HORNY, y'all.  
> 2\. This chapter brought to you by the haircut I got at the end of high school that took me from mid-back length hair to a pixie cut. It is the most amazing feeling in the WORLD.  
> 3\. LET ME RIDE A MOOSE, NINTENDO.


	3. Chapter 3

Zelda falls asleep on the back of the fucking horse.

It happens without her knowledge or permission, which she discovers when Link rouses her for lunch. He’s very kind about it, which she appreciates and also resents. “I suppose it’s like recovering from any strenuous activity or long-term illness,” she tells him over rice balls as they sit on the edge of the Hyrule river in the sunlight. She has her sandals off and her feet in the water, which is cold but the contrast between the warm sun and the chill of the river is delicious. “I just hope I don’t fall off the horse. I’ll break my neck.”

 _I won’t let you fall, Princess,_ Link signs immediately, one hand still clutching half a rice ball.

“I know,” she says with a fond smile. “But that’s not the point. If I keep passing out like this I don’t know if I’ll be safe to ride solo.”

 _We’ll just stay doubled up on Tulip, then, and the second horse can carry the gear._ Zelda glances at his enchanted pack, which she knows from experience never feels heavier than about twenty pounds, and he follows her eyes and shrugs. _The second horse can be... company for Tulip. She gets lonely._ The latter he signs with a very sincere expression, and she has to look away and take a bite of her rice ball to avoid laughing.

“How long to the stable?” she asks. She used to know this land like the back of her hand, riding around with him from spring to spring, offering her prayers to the goddess and receiving nothing in return. She still knows it, she supposes, but knowing how many blades of grass are in Hyrule Field doesn’t translate to knowing which bridges still exist and which roads are safe these days.

 _We should get there at about four, maybe five?_ Link tells her, his rice balls demolished, leaning back against a rock with his legs sprawled lazily out in front of him. _Long enough to settle in. There’s a shrine nearby I could show you if you want._

Oh, Zelda _does_ want to see the shrines. She’s wanted to know what’s inside those things for a century, and she’ll finally be able to catalog them! Her fingers itch for a pen and paper, and she runs her thumb over the writing callus on her middle finger absently. “We’d potentially be able to get a horse and press on, though? And camp somewhere along the road to Kakariko?”

 _Yes?_ Link frowns at her, an adorable little furrow in his brow and an adorable little downturn of his mouth. _Do you not want to stay overnight at the stable?_ He nudges her with his elbow. _They have these things called “beds” for sleeping in. You might have forgotten them with everything that happened, but they’re more comfortable than the ground._

“‘Beds,’” she repeats, trying to sound like the concept is new to her. “I don’t know, that sounds fake. Furniture made just for sleeping? I don’t believe it.” Link snorts, his mouth curling up in a half-grin, and then his expression smooths and he looks at her like she’s a puzzle he needs to figure out. _You don’t want to stay at the stable._ It’s a statement, rather than a question, and Zelda busies herself with folding up the waxed fabric wrapping from her rice balls rather than meet his eyes.

“I don’t,” she confirms, sorting out her complicated feelings about why. “I don’t feel up for spending time with lots of strangers right now. I don’t think I have the energy for it.” She leans back on her elbows and turns her face to the sky, shutting her eyes against the sun and basking for a long moment. “I don’t know what role I’m going to play in this new Hyrule,” she says quietly. “I don’t want the world to know the princess has returned before I know if they need a princess, and if I’m going to _be_ the princess, then I want my introduction to be on my terms, not made while wearing my knight’s spare clothes and drooling on his shoulder on the back of a horse.”

“I see,” Link says, and he sounds thoughtful. She supposes he went through something similar without even the benefit of knowing who he was, and she feels a vicious surge of protectiveness mixed with anger. How dare he be made to go through this? How dare the gods do this to both of them? If she’d just been answered a hundred years ago when she _asked_ , if her mother hadn’t died, if her father hadn’t pushed her into what he thought she needed to be--

But that’s all in the past, and dwelling on it does nothing for her now but dredge up old resentments like sludge from the bottom of a lake. Zelda takes a deep breath, exhales slowly, pushing out the anger with the air, and looks at Link, the sunlight rimming his hair with gold. She suddenly has no patience for dissembling or hiding her true motivations after a century of having to protect the deepest parts of herself, so she says “Also, I fully intend to share a bed with you again tonight and for the foreseeable future, and I think I’m going to have an easier time convincing you to do that if we’re alone in a tent. If we’re around other people you’re going to get all noble and concerned about propriety and my ‘virtue’ and other old-fashioned claptrap, so I want to bypass that conversation entirely. I’m bored just thinking about it.”

Link responds to this by choking on air, going absolutely ruby-red, and freezing in place as though he’d been hit by an ice keese. Zelda starts counting in her head and gets to twenty-three before he breathes again, sucking in a long, shaky inhale. He turns his head to look at her, the movement strangely mechanical, and his eyes rove over her face. She feels her ears start to pink but stands her ground, meeting his gaze with a calm expression and a slightly lifted chin, refusing to let her racing heart show outwardly. He sighs and runs a hand over his face, his shoulders dropping by a hairsbreadth, and she knows in that moment that she’s won.

 _I have a strong feeling that if I try to argue, you will have perfect, articulate rebuttals ready to go in response to anything I could possibly say,_ he signs ruefully. _So you’re right that we can probably skip that discussion._

“If it makes you uncomfortable I’m not going to force you to do it,” Zelda says, trying to push the sincerity into her words. She wants his consent, not his capitulation. “But I’m also not going to steal your bedroll in perpetuity, so if you don’t want to share we’ll need to buy a second one.”

Link looks at her again for a long moment and she feels like a pinned specimen under his gaze, or like an ancient Sheikah passage that needs translating. _Sharing will help you?_ he asks eventually. _It’ll make things easier? It’ll make you feel safer?_

Zelda nods, because she doesn’t trust her voice.

His jaw firms, and he nods once, decisively. _Okay._

“You’re sure?” she asks, because she really doesn’t want to pressure him. “It won’t make you uncomfortable?”

 _My discomfort has nothing to do with you,_ he signs with emphatic gestures, and stands up, offering his hand and effectively ending the conversation. She accepts it, clasping wrist to wrist, and lets him pull her back to her feet. Zelda thinks there might be a bit more to it than that, but figures if he has an actual problem or an issue he can bring it up in his own time.

Also, annoyingly, after five minutes on horseback she falls asleep again. Link wakes her back up when they’re crossing the bridge toward the Dueling Peaks stable, and she has a chance to scrub the gunk out of her eyes and make sure she’s not entirely bleary and groggy before having to face other people again. When she can focus again she glances ahead at the stable and does a double-take. The last time she saw one, it was sprawling, vibrant, and _crowded_. This looks almost like the yurts of the nomadic tribes, something made to be taken down and rebuilt elsewhere quickly. She counts maybe ten people. She knew, she _knew_ it was like this, she felt the way the land changed around her over the century, but seeing it with physical eyes again makes it something else.

“It’s so small,” she breathes, tears stinging the corner of her eyes. “Is this what’s become of us?”

“In some places,” Link answers, his voice gentle. “There are larger villages and towns.” He turns halfway in the saddle, easing one of her hands from its deathgrip on his waist and brushing his gloved thumb over the back of it. “Hyrule is still here, Princess,” he tells her, “and it’s still beautiful. It’s just different.”

She nods, her eyes on his face instead of on the ramshackle reminder of their combined failure a century prior. “You’ll show it to me?” she asks, the tiniest hitch in her voice.

Link smiles at her, a quiet, gentle, private thing. She wonders if anyone else has ever seen him smile like that. “I live to serve,” he says, barely above a whisper. Zelda loses track of time while she looks into his eyes, so soft and warm and so very, very blue. She should probably say something, a part of her thinks vaguely. It seems like this would be the time to say something.

“Link!” a man calls, and they both startle and turn towards the speaker, the crystalline moment shattered. (Probably a good thing--Zelda’s pretty sure she was about to attack her knight with her mouth, on the back of a horse, in public, and there are at least two things wrong with that scenario.) She sees the man’s pack, first, over twice the size of the man himself and shaped strangely--is that a _beetle?_ _How can he carry that thing with those little stick legs of his?_ she wonders wildly, and then has to remind herself that asking questions about other people’s little stick legs is probably rude.

“Hey, Beedle,” Link says, dropping easily down out of the saddle and reaching up to catch her as she follows after with rather less grace. “How are the bugs?”

“They’re doing great!” the man says with an enthusiasm that makes Zelda feel an immediate kinship. “The last bladed rhino beetle you got me turned out to be a female, and I put her in with the male and they’ve laid eggs!”

“Congratulations on becoming a bug uncle,” Link says with a straight face, like that’s a normal thing to say to anyone. “How have the roads been lately? Anything I should look into?”

“It’s the weirdest thing,” Beedle says, leaning on his little shop counter, which is hanging from his shoulders so he really _can’t_ lean on it and has to overbalance himself back upright. “Everyone who’s been through in the last day or so says they’re _completely_ clear. Huge storm, thunder and lightning all over the place, moblins wandering around like they plan to move in, and then all of a sudden nothing. It’s like someone snuffed out a candle.” He frowns in Zelda’s general direction and then does a double-take so large it looks like he’s going for physical comedy. “But we’re being super rude!” he says, turning back to Link with an appalled frown. “We’re acting like your friend isn’t even here! Sorry, Miss…”

“Lucy,” Zelda says after a bare instant of mental scrambling, taking the man’s proffered hand and giving it a firm shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Beedle.”

“Likewise, Miss Lucy,” Beedle says, giving her a friendly grin. “Any friend of Link is a friend of mine. Haven’t seen you through here before, though, is this your first time traveling?” His eyes travel over her tunic, not in a lascivious way, and he narrows them very slightly and glances between her and Link a few times, clearly doing some mental calculations.

“I used to travel a lot when I was younger,” Zelda says honestly, ignoring the way Beedle throws Link a knowing glance and Link’s baffled stare in response. “That was a long time ago, though. Link came upon me while I was being attacked by monsters. He was good enough to dispatch them, but I’m afraid in the process my belongings were destroyed.” She looks down at her battered sandals and up at Beedle, radiating pure “what can you do?” energy. Her eyes drift to the enormous pack on his back and she doesn’t have to fake the wistful longing on her face. “I don’t suppose you sell clothes, do you? I would very nearly commit murder for a good pair of socks at this point.”

The slightly suggestive tilt of Beedle’s eyebrows disappears immediately, replaced by concerned horror. “You poor thing!” he says, looking at her tunic in a completely different light. “There’s been more and more stories like that in the last year. I don’t sell clothes, but I bet the stablekeepers have some to spare--they usually pick up things from travelers that need mending.”

“What _do_ you sell?” Zelda asks, glancing at his pack again. She really had been hoping for socks.

“Beedle’s specialty is bugs,” Link says, catching her eye. He tips his head at the stable in a tiny gesture, asking if she wants to go inside, and she tips her head at Beedle with just as much subtlety. Link indicates his understanding with a minute twitch of his eyebrows, and tells Beedle, “I’ll be back in just a minute. Can you entertain the Pr--person who was recently attacked by monsters until I get back?”

“Sure thing!” Beedle says, and he pats the crate next to himself with a warm smile. Zelda sits down and leans forward, elbows on her knees. “You said you had successful eggs laid from a mated rhino beetle pair?” she asks immediately, eyes flashing. “Tell me everything about your breeding program.”

By the time Link makes it back Zelda and Beedle have discussed the successes and failures of his current setups, and she’s helping him troubleshoot potential improvements. “Are you asking people to keep track of what flora and fauna is nearby when they find your specimens?” she asks, leaning over Beedle’s shoulder to point at his notebook. “It looks like this one’s been found in Hateno _and_ in Faron, which means an extreme amount of potential habitat viability, but if you had more detail you could narrow down the most common plants for each location and do some testing to see the effects of feeding different types.”

Link clears his throat before Beedle can respond, and they both look up at him with startled expressions. “I’ve been here for five minutes,” he says apologetically, and nods at the two bowls in his hands. “The food’s getting cold.”

“Oh!” Zelda and Beedle say in unison, and then double-take at each other. “Thank you for telling me about your beetles,” Zelda says, sincerely. “It was fascinating.”

“Oh, the pleasure was all mine, Miss Lucy!” Beedle says, shaking her hand with enthusiasm. “You had some amazing suggestions! Come back and talk to me about bugs anytime!”

When she’s finally extricated herself from Beedle’s handshakes and thank-yous, Zelda trails Link over to sit under a sprawling tree just outside the stable grounds. “I thought you didn’t feel up to spending time with strangers?” Link teases her gently as they settle down against the trunk.

“Admittedly they don’t get much stranger than Beedle,” Zelda says, accepting her bowl with a nod of thanks. “But that was talking about science, not about…” She waves one hand vaguely, not quite able to articulate all the things she doesn’t want to talk about. “And his experiments are _fascinating!_ I think with some refinement he actually might be able to set up a real captive breeding system for rare insects. Think of what we could learn!” She turns to Link, ready to really get into the potential benefits of domesticated insect populations, and finds him with his cheek propped on one fist, watching her with bright, delighted eyes. Her cheeks flush and she looks away, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry,” she says, a looping refrain of “ _Calm down, Zelda,_ ” and “ _Tell me later, Zelda,_ ” and “ _This is not an appropriate conversation, Zelda,_ ” cycling through her head, sounding like her father and her tutors and _everyone_ \--

“No, hey,” Link says softly, touching her on the elbow so she turns to look at him again. _I wasn’t--I_ **_like_ ** _it when you talk about research_ , he tells her, his bowl abandoned on the ground so he can use both hands. _I haven’t heard you do it in a long time. It was nice. It reminded me of before, that’s all._

Zelda exhales and wraps her hands around her bowl. “People used to tell me I talked too much,” she admits. It hurts to realize that old anxiety is still there. Couldn’t it have been burnt away in the forge of her hundred years in the castle? Why did _that_ have to stick around?

 _Fuck people_ , Link signs firmly. _They’re not here. I am, and I’ve never thought you talk too much, Princess._ He reaches over to squeeze her elbow and turns to his meat and rice bowl. Zelda watches him eat for a long moment and probes her memories. The voices in her head, the ones telling her to be less, to be smaller, to be quieter, to be _different_ … They’ve never sounded like him, she realizes. They sound like a lot of other people from her past, but never, never like him. 

“So… Lucy?” Link asks several mouthfuls later. He eyes her sidelong and Zelda shrugs.

“My middle name is Luciana,” she says, a little embarrassed. “I didn’t lie. You _did_ save me from monsters, and all my belongings _were_ destroyed. I just also didn’t announce my full lineage and how I spent the last century on my second day of having a body again.” She takes another bite as a stalling tactic and glances over at Link. “You need to stop calling me Princess all the time,” she tells him. “You almost did it in front of Beedle.”

Link rather looks like she asked him to eat a frog again. “I guess,” he says mulishly into his bowl. “It seems… _Wrong_ , though.” She can tell that “wrong” isn’t quite the word he wants to use, and that it’s probably a more complicated thing than that. She understands, on some level--they used to have to be so _proper_.

“Link,” she says with half a smile. “There’s no one around who would still care what you call me.”

“I care,” he says immediately, and then flushes and turns away to shovel an immense amount of rice into his mouth. When his mouth is empty again he glances at her and then out at the field and adds, quietly, “You’ll always be the Princess to me.” In profile he’s something out of a painting, all gold and blue against the green around them. Zelda looks away, everything a little too much for a moment, and finishes her dinner.

The feeling of everything being a little too much doesn’t fade immediately, because after Link runs their empty dishes back to the stable he returns leading a refreshed-looking Tulip and a pure white horse, one that looks beautifully, _achingly_ familiar. “Royal?” she blurts, reaching out a shaking hand to run it over the velvety white nose. The tack is the same, even, and she looks at Link for an explanation to this impossibility.

 _A descendant, I think,_ Link tells her, handing over the reins. _I named her Snowdrop, but we can change it if you like_.

“Snowdrop sounds good,” Zelda says, scratching the mare’s forehead, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. She re-arranges the reins so they drape over the saddle, takes a deep breath, and with a mighty heave mounts a horse under her own power for the first time in literal decades. She feels ridiculously proud, and a little silly about it, but she grins down at Link and says, “We’ll have to see how long it takes before I fall off.”

 _Whatever you say, Princess,_ he signs, eyes sparkling, and leaps nimbly up onto Tulip. She swears he makes an eight foot vertical jump from standing. What an absolute _specimen_ . He kicks Tulip up into a walk, and Zelda stops staring at his legs long enough to do the same with Snowdrop. She waits until they’re out on the open road, clear of the stable and any other travelers, and presses Snowdrop up into a full gallop with a whoop of pure, free joy. She barely hears Link’s startled exclamation and the absolute thunder of Tulip’s hooves echoing after her, bouncing off the cliffs around them. _Onetwothreefour_ , _onetwothreefour_ , white legs eat up the ground, the wind streaming through Zelda’s hair. She laughs, giddy and lightheaded, and she _rides_.

To her immense pride, Zelda does not fall asleep while on Snowdrop. Her pride is slightly tempered by the fact that they only ride for about another hour or so before Link decides they should find a campsite, and how when she dismounts her knees buckle and she has to catch herself against the saddle. She gets a fire going while Link sees to the horses and the tent and by the time he joins her she has a tea brewed of mint and Hyrule herbs. It turns out he _was_ able to pick up some used clothes from the stable, and in the sunset light she peels off the outer tunic and tries on the two chemises, the patched homespun dress, and the linen hose.

“This is too small,” she tells him, trying to make the dress close over her bustline. “I think it was made for a child.” Link nods absently, eyes on the dress, clearly thinking. She wishes he was staring at her with a more prurient interest but instead she feels like a riddle he’s trying to solve. At least the hose fits well enough.

“Take it off,” Link says abruptly, and Zelda suppresses a shiver with an effort and raises an eyebrow at him. He meets her eyes, realizes what he just said, and flushes. _The dress,_ he clarifies with jerky hands. _I think I can alter it._

Link, it turns out, is a dab hand at tailoring. Zelda watches, fascinated, as he opens up the side seams on the too-small dress, cuts strips off the hem, and sews them back into the sides with neat, even stitches. Since it was already too short this brings the skirt up to her knees, but with the hose and the long chemise underneath it doesn’t look bad, just a little shapeless. He scrutinizes her, eyes narrowed at her waist, and ends up handing over a belt from his infinite pack. With the belt the faded green dress goes from being “barely better than being naked” to “actual clothes,” and Link nods, satisfied.

“I didn’t know you could sew,” Zelda says, stripping out of the better-fitting garments and folding them up neatly. “I wish I could.” She’ll probably sleep in one of the chemises tonight, she decides, and then give Link’s Sheikah armor back tomorrow morning. Link shrugs and takes a sip of tea, his shoulders hunched a little bashfully. _A soldier who can’t mend his own clothes ends up naked,_ he tells her. _You figure things out pretty quickly if you want to have a shirt without holes in it. And you_ **_can_ ** _sew. You did this._ He tugs at the hem of his Champion’s tunic, giving her a significant look.

“I _embroidered_ that,” Zelda corrects. “It’s a useful skill, but it doesn’t mean I could have made this dress fit me. It just means I could make it very pretty while it remained too small.” She sighs and looks down at her still be-sandaled feet. “I suppose it was too much to hope they had boots in my size,” she says mournfully.

 _We’ll get you some in Kakariko,_ Link promises. His head lifts, eyes flashing like he just remembered something, and he digs in his pack and hands her a fabric bundle. “Um,” he says, looking at her and then away, color spreading across his cheeks and darkening the tips of his ears. “The stablemaster’s wife said you’d probably need these, too.”

The bundle proves to be several pairs of linen undergarments, the free-sized type of basically a rectangle that ties in place, and some breast wraps. Zelda looks at Link’s red face, running her hands over the linen in her lap, and considers her options. It is really so delightful to fluster him, this new Link, with his expressive face and his conversational hands and his sweet, sweet blushes, but…

“Thank you,” she says, stowing the underthings away with the rest of her new clothes and refraining from further teasing. “That was very thoughtful.” Link nods, jerkily, taking another sip of his tea, and Zelda suppresses her smile. They fall into an easy routine as they get ready for bed, one buried deep in their muscle memory from so many nights spent camping before the Calamity. The only stutter comes when Zelda crawls into the tent and kicks off her sandals and Link, pointedly, _doesn’t._ She turns around to find him watching her through the open flap of the tent, his face half silver in the moonlight, half shadowed, expression fully unreadable. The night is so, so still, and he’s a statue, all carved from marble by master artisans. She thinks his eyes might be on her bare calves where they stick out under the chemise, but it’s too dark to say for sure.

“Are you coming in or not?” she asks, deciding to brazen through this… Whatever it is. Zelda throws back the bedroll and climbs inside, flopping down on her back and lifting her eyebrows at him in challenge. A little shiver rolls over Link from head to toes, and he shakes his head like a trance has lifted and steps into the tent. His boots come off, the tent flap firmly closed, and he crawls over to her in the velvet darkness and carefully tucks the bedroll around her before he settles down next to her, on top of the fabric. He sets a hand on her waist, tentatively, like she’s as fragile as the delicate wing of a butterfly, and even through the fabric of the bedroll she swears she feels each fingertip burning as hot as any brand. She waits a moment to see what he’ll do next, but he just lies there, holding himself so infuriatingly rigid she might as well be in bed with a log of wood.

“You can get _in_ the bedroll, you know,” she grouses, blatantly worming her way closer and clasping his hand in hers before rolling over on her side. It works, the momentum pulling him in against her back with a startled little gasp she feels against the back of her bare neck. “Princess--” he protests halfheartedly, and she keeps hold of his hand and tucks his arm firmly around her waist.

“And don’t call me Princess,” she says, unconsciousness already nipping at her heels now that she’s horizontal. Link huffs out half a laugh against the back of her neck and through the bedroll she feels his body relax. “Whatever you say, Princess,” he says, barely audible.

“Shut up,” she tells him, and promptly falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I feel obligated to put some kind of notes here but honestly I got nothin' to say about this chapter. I'm here for pining on horseback and if you're reading this, I assume you are too. You're welcome.


	4. Chapter 4

Zelda wakes, again, to an empty tent and off-key humming, this time a ballad she remembers from her days in the castle. The lyrics are ridiculous--something about star-crossed lovers and the attempts to be together that inevitably lead to their horrible deaths. By the time Zelda was six she’d come up with multiple perfectly logical plans that would have avoided the tragic ending, maybe by the pair just fucking _speaking to each other_ , but bards don’t ask bookworm princesses for constructive criticism on the stories they spin, more’s the pity. Their songs about the stars would have a lot less poetry and a lot more astronomical realism if they did. Still, the tune’s nice, and she rolls over to press her face into the rumpled blankets where Link slept and breathes him in. What if she just went back to sleep? Maybe he’d come in to check on her and they’d end up cuddling again. That would be nice.

Zelda clings to that hope and the blankets for approximately another minute before her bladder forces her out of the tent. Fucking _bodies_ . By the time she makes it back to the woven seating mat next to the fire, Link has a plate of crepes and a cup of tea waiting for her, and she barely grunts a greeting at him before stuffing her face. “Only you,” she tells him between bites, “would make crepes on a campfire. Hylia save me, these are _amazing_.”

 _They’re not that hard_ , Link tells her, eyes intent on the crepe in the pan as he waits to flip it. _I think more people would make them if they knew they could._

“And if they had a magical backpack that held an entire travel kitchen,” Zelda points out, and Link pauses to stare into the distance, spatula hovering above the pan. “That’s a good point” he says as he recovers and flips the crepe, “I actually forget not everyone has one.” She takes a sip of her tea to cover her fond smile. Lady above, this boy of hers.

The boy in question apparently bought additional tableware at the stable, since he waves off her offered empty plate and fills up a second one for himself. Zelda leans back on her hands and stares up at the sky while he eats, eyes roaming over the wool-fluff clouds still tinted pink and orange with the sunrise. “We should reach Kakariko around midday?” she asks, trying to remember the path through the canyon and comparing it against how far they rode the day before.

“Barring any trouble, yeah,” Link says, his crepes disappearing at an alarming rate. Zelda nods absently, her eyes still on the sky but her mind somewhere else entirely. “How is Impa?” she asks, remembering her mentor as she _was_ , impossibly mature and impressive and deadly and wise and probably only about five years older than Zelda at the time.

“Old,” Link says immediately, and Zelda snorts and gives him a _Look_. He grins at her, uncowed, and takes another bite. “She’s still spry and sharp as a tack. It’s…” He trails off, shoves the last of his crepes in his mouth, and sets down the plate so his hands are free. _I didn’t remember her when I met her, so this Impa is the one I know, and the other Impa, the one from before, is like someone I saw in a dream. She’s just Impa to me. I don’t know how to tell you about her in a way that makes sense._ His hands still as he searches for further words, and finally he just adds, _I’m sorry_.

“Don’t be,” Zelda says firmly. “I’ll just have to see her for myself as soon as possible.” She pushes herself to her feet and stretches, fingers reaching for the clouds and her back cracking audibly. This makes it worth having a body again, the satisfaction of a good stretch, the feeling of blood tingling back into too-still limbs. She shivers in a morning breeze, gooseflesh skittering across her skin, and glances down at Link.

He’s staring at her breasts again. When she investigates why, she finds her nipples have peaked in the chill air and are _extremely_ visible through the linen of the chemise, which she didn’t bother covering with other clothing before breakfast. His eyes track down to her legs, bare from ankle to thigh with her hands stretched above her head like this, dragging the fabric up along her skin. The air is cool but his gaze is hot, and she subtly, experimentally cocks a hip and arches her back a little. When his eyes drag back up her body to her breasts she swears she hears his breath hitch, just barely, and heat spikes low in her abdomen. An animal part of the back of her mind tells her, loudly, that it has some very specific ideas of other things that would make it worth having a body again. If his eyes on her make her feel like this, she wonders wildly, what would his hands feel like? Their eyes meet and his are somehow dark, the crystalline blue gone from the color of the sky to the color of deep water. She shivers, once, and not from cold.

Her movement breaks the spell, and Link whips his face away from her, the tips of his pointed ears positively scarlet. “I’ll--” he says, gathering their dishes with his back to her, “I’ll just--” and then he flees with the dishes, presumably to wash them although he never actually clarifies that. Zelda stares after him, her heart pounding, breathing ragged, and between her legs she _clenches_. This must at least partially be a result of her body re-learning itself, she rationalizes, still wishing for pen and paper so she can document the process. It’s natural that after a century in stasis she would feel things more strongly while her systems sort themselves out, like a kind of second puberty. Her desire to drag her knight into their tent and straddle him is just especially acute right now, so she’s going to keep an iron grip on her self control and _not do that_ , not when they’re both still so raw and fresh into this new world with each other. She nods to herself decisively and heads into the tent to get dressed.

By the time Link gets back to camp his blush is gone and Zelda has her distracting breasts safely hidden under her new(ish) clothes, her borrowed garments folded in a neat pile next to Link’s pack. She opts to ride solo, at least until her body indicates otherwise, and Snowdrop follows a pace behind and to the side of Tulip as they set out, almost close enough that if she reached out her fingers she could brush them over the curve of Link’s thigh. She keeps her hands on the reins and her eyes forward. _Control_.

The ride up into the canyon is _surreal_ , familiar and not, like a recurring dream that you never remember having afterward. Zelda knows the landscape, the rocks jutting toward the sky in sharp defiance of gravity, but all the details have changed. She remembers banners and pennants, tiny shrines set into every alcove to venerate the spirits of the land. She remembers knowing from the first step into the canyon that she was in Sheikah territory, their culture spread across the terrain like grass. Now it’s just rocks and dirt, and her heart twists in her chest. What will she find when she reaches Kakariko? How long will it take for her to feel at home in this new Hyrule?

Zelda’s mind still swirls with anxious imaginings when Link pulls Tulip to a halt and raises his hand to stop her as well. His shoulders are a tense line, and he cocks his head, every part of him focused. The road in front of them switchbacks up further into the mountains and the corner turns sharply, obscuring whatever lies around the bend. After a moment she hears it, too: grunts, babbling, and the scrape of wood against stone. Bokoblins lurk around that corner, set up for an ambush. Instinctively Zelda pushes her awareness out and down, trying to sink into the ground and ask it for details, to pinpoint the monsters so she can tell Link how many and where--

She practically falls off the horse when her mind goes _absolutely fucking nowhere_. Disoriented and dizzy, Snowdrop has to take a step underneath her to keep her balanced, and Link catches her by the shoulder and props her up as she pinches the bridge of her nose and breathes deeply. _Do you need to rest?_ he asks, and she shakes her head as her vision clears.

“I’m fine,” she whispers, hands clenching around the reins in frustration. “I tried to do something and apparently it doesn’t work anymore.” Zelda huffs out a breath quietly and runs her fingers through her hair, pushing it out of her face. “What do you want to do?”

Link’s eyes go back to the switchback ahead of them, his head turned to face one pointed ear at the echoing rock walls. Whatever he hears helps him make a decision, because he turns to her and signs, _Ride to the side and back of me. Snowdrop can trample them if she needs to. Do not get off the horse and do not stop._

Zelda nods, feeling acutely useless and more annoyed than frightened. She’s sick of this, was sick of it before she ever went to the castle and was able to spend a hundred years actually _doing_ something. She doesn’t _want_ to have to be protected anymore. She wants to be able to actually _help_ , and now that she isn’t Hylia anymore it appears she’s back to just being a princess of a land that hardly exists and a scholar. _Maybe we’ll come across a really disorganized library,_ she thinks sarcastically as she follows Link up the road at a trot, _and at long last my skills will be needed._

As they come around the corner Link kicks Tulip up into a canter, Snowdrop surging ahead just a beat behind the larger horse. The bokoblins startle but only for a moment, snatching up weapons and drawing bows, arrows nocked and ready to fly. Zelda drops low across Snowdrop’s back, presenting the smallest target possible, eyes zig-zagging over the camp as she analyzes it. Let’s see, there are two with bows on the ground and one on a makeshift tower, the one on the tower is probably the most dangerous of those. Two have wooden weapons, one a club and one a spear, she’ll need to worry most about the spear because of the reach so she should skirt wide around that one, which leaves the apparent leader in the center, white-furred and holding a claymore. She watches, slow seconds dripping past like honey, as arrowheads move into position, the bokoblins taking aim--

Leap fully fucking _launches_ into the air, flinging himself off Tulip’s back with a vertical leap that stuns Zelda’s analytical brain into stuttering disbelief. He draws his bow, aims, and fires, three times with smooth, perfect efficiency, almost floating, and when he lands it’s with a roll, one that takes him inside the guard of the startled bokoblin with the spear. With a flash of light on steel he comes to his feet, the Master Sword already in one hand, a shield on his other forearm, and the bokoblin is dead before it has a chance to react. Link ducks and feints, deflecting the club of the second bokoblin with a deft movement of his shield and shoves forward, knocking the thing off-balance and cutting it down when it stumbles. That just leaves the white-furred leader, who attacks with a vicious sweep of the claymore. The blade whistles through the air where Link suddenly _isn’t_ , powerful legs propelling him off the ground. Power crackles around him as he comes down, and for a brief, brilliant moment Zelda can smell Urbosa on the air, ozone and the spiced oils she used to use on her skin. When Link hits the ground so does the lightning, flashing in the canyon shadows, and by the time Zelda’s eyes clear from the brightness the fight is over. She pulls Snowdrop to a halt, barely twenty feet past the carnage. The whole thing took less than a minute.

Link surveys the scene for a moment further, sword and shield at the ready, and only after he fully confirms the lack of living foes does he clean the blade and stow his weapons. Zelda can’t stop staring at him, gaping, really, possibly leering. Something clenches low in her gut again and she’s very warm all of a sudden. It’s not the violence, she thinks distantly, because for all that she’s used to it she still finds it repugnant. It’s the _competence_ , the way his hands are so sure and strong on the hilt of a sword or the handle of a bow. It’s the intensity in his eyes, the concentration on his face, the way he tracks all the moving parts and combines them together into an understanding of the whole. It is also, she has to admit, how the fighting displays his absolutely magnificent, goddess-blessed body, hard muscles flexing under fabric. She recalls the feeling of his chest against her as he carried her, that first day alive again, how easily he moved with her in his arms. Zelda white-knuckles the reins and bites her lip. _Control_.

“I think you’re stronger than you were before,” she says, aiming for a cool, thoughtful tone and mostly getting there. Link swings back up onto Tulip’s back easily and glances across at her. _I trained_ , he signs. _A lot_. The horses move back into a trot and they leave the battle behind. Zelda thinks about that, about his skills Now compared to Before (she’s started giving them capital letters in her head, to mark the significance). He was the finest of her father’s knights, Before, every inch the hero, the sword that seals the darkness shining in his hand. She saw him fight enough times, then, to know he was something amazing, but none of that compares to the wicked efficiency he’s capable of Now.

“How long have you been awake?” she asks. The passage of time was… flexible, while she was Hylia. It must have been some time, though, because she remembers the feel of him when he first emerged, shaky and stumbling, from the Shrine of Resurrection, and he neither shakes nor stumbles now.

Link glances at her and then raises his eyes to the sky, his lips moving silently while he figures it out. _Eleven months?_ It seems like a guess since his hand motions are hesitant. _I’m not sure of the exact date when I woke up, so it might be either a bit more or a bit less._ He turns his face away, shoulders hunching, and adds, _I’m sorry it took so long. I just… I wanted to be sure I did it right, this time._

“Don’t apologize for doing what you needed to do to end it,” she tells him firmly, wishing she was close enough to reach over and squeeze his shoulder. “A single extra year is a drop in the bucket compared to a hundred, and it’s not like I could really tell the difference. I just realized I didn’t know.”

She doesn’t know if the words have really sunk in, but his shoulders drop back to normal and he manages a brief smile. She’ll say them, she decides, as often as she needs to until he actually believes it. That determination carries her about twenty minutes down the road, almost to Kakariko, when the adrenaline of the fight deserts her utterly. In the space of a moment she goes from alert and fairly in control of herself to struggling to keep her eyes open. Zelda drowses, chin dropping to her chest, and then snaps back upright with a jerk.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she hisses, reining Snowdrop to a halt and rubbing her eyes angrily. Logically she knows it’s only been two days, and it’s not surprising that her recovery might take longer. If she had a broken leg, that would be at least six weeks to heal, and then at least a further month out of the splint to re-develop the strength lost from the inactivity. Knowing that all logically doesn’t do shit for her emotions, though, and right now she’s absolutely incensed that she can’t seem to manage _barely_ half a day’s ride and _uselessly_ observing a battle without needing a nap.

“Princess?” Link asks, pulling Tulip up alongside her. Zelda wobbles in the saddle and he reaches down a hand to steady her.

“I think,” she says, trying to keep her temper in check, “that I need to sit down for a moment.” She doesn’t wait for a response, dismounting Snowdrop with a stagger, and makes her way to the canyon wall before she collapses, her back sliding against the stone as she sinks to the ground. She scrubs her hands over her face, a little too hard, the mild pain helping her focus on staying awake.

“Princess,” Link says again, and when she moves her hands she finds he’s crouched just in front of her, brows creased in concern. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she says, hearing the whine in her voice and unable to stop it. “I’m just exhausted.”

Link nods, one warm hand landing on her shoulder to steady her as she lists to the side. “We can double up on Tulip again so you can rest,” he says, and _Goddess_ she appreciates him using his spoken words right now because her eyes can’t seem to focus on anything. He’s so kind, and the offer is so easily made, and she pinches her eyes shut against the burn of frustrated tears because--

“I don’t _want_ to have to double up on Tulip,” she says, not bothering to keep her emotions out of her voice. “I don’t _want_ to keep passing out on the back of a horse. I want to ride into Kakariko under my own power.” Zelda tries to focus her blurry eyes on his face, afraid she’s not making sense. “It was different with Beedle and the stable. No one there knew me, but the Sheikah _will_. They’ll know I’m the princess, and I don’t want them to see me like--” she tries to gesture at herself and thumps her wrist into her knee painfully. Her head falls back against the stone and she blinks up at the sky. “I want to be seen as strong,” she admits. “I don’t want a whole village fussing after the weak, useless princess again.”

Link says nothing, and she wishes he would, even though she doesn’t know what she wants him to say. Zelda focuses on breathing and not falling asleep, so thoroughly that she jumps when Link takes her hand. “Drink this,” he says, pressing a vial into her palm. “It’s not a great idea to depend on them long-term, but it should keep you going for a bit.”

Zelda stares down at the round bottle and its bright green contents for a long moment while she waits for her brain to process his words. When it finally clicks, an embarrassing amount of time later, she pops the cork and knocks it back in two swallows. The potion tingles as it goes down, tasting of almost nothing, and when she’s done there’s a bitter flavor on the back of her tongue. She replaces the cork and hands the empty bottle back to Link, who’s watching her intently, and she opens her mouth to ask how long before she should feel the effects and realizes she can focus on his face again.

“Oh!” she says, looking at her hands and flexing her fingers. “Oh, _thank you_. Hylia keep you in her golden hands, Link. How long should this last?”

 _A few hours,_ he tells her, reverting to sign now that her eyes are working again. _More if you take it easy, less if you decide to engage in strenuous activity, so don’t try to wrestle a bear or anything._

“I will restrain myself and only wrestle cuckoos,” she says dryly, touching her thumbs to each of her fingertips in turn to test out her level of muscular control. “This is really quite amazing. What was in that potion?”

Link, already silent, goes absolutely still in a way that catches her attention. His face, so expressive now, is carefully blank like it used to be Before, when she hadn’t managed to crack his shell. She narrows her eyes at him. “Link?” she asks, injecting a measure of steel into her voice. “What was in that potion?”

He hesitates for a few breaths before his hands move, the gestures confined. _Bokoblin fangs._ She waits and when no further signs are forthcoming, she prompts, “Bokoblin fangs _and?_ ”

Link turns away slightly, so she can’t see his face full on, and mutters something under his breath she doesn’t quite catch. “Sorry?” she says, cupping one hand around her ear. “Still getting used to having senses again. Can you repeat that?”

He takes a deep breath, still staring somewhere into the distance. “Tireless…” he says in a more normal tone of voice, which then drops again to nearly inaudible when he finishes, “ _f_ _rogs_.”

Zelda stares at him, honing her eyes into the sharpest of blades. “Tireless frogs,” she repeats.

Link nods, face a mask of solemnity.

“ _Frogs_ ,” she says, the word carved from granite.

Link nods again. His mouth twitches the tiniest amount, and after a moment’s scrutiny Zelda realizes he’s biting the inside of his cheek, the one facing away from her. She suspects he’s trying to keep himself from laughing, the little fucker.

“You _piece of shit!_ ” she mock-snarls, scowling to cover her smile as she lunges forward and shoves him. He goes over backward even though she knows he could easily resist her, and that breaks the dam keeping his mirth behind his teeth. “You fucking asshole!” Zelda continues, ripping up handfuls of grass to throw at him as he collapses into giggles. “I ask you, in the spirit of scientific discovery, to sample _one_ frog--” he’s not even trying to resist now, wracked with silent laughter, his hands over his face as he allows her to cover him in grass “--and you ignore your duty to the whole of Hyrule, refusing to help me advance our knowledge for the good of our people, because you thought it was _gross_ \--”

“That’s not what--” he protests, and Zelda ignores him. “And then you have the fucking _audacity_ to sit before me, here, today, and feed me a potion _made of frogs_ , you absolute _hypocrite!_ ” She flings one last handful of grass into his face, struggling to control her grin, and stands with a huff.

“It was _alive!”_ Link splutters through a mouthful of plant life, and Zelda snaps, “I would have cooked it, but _someone_ made me lose my sample.”

“You shoved a live, raw frog in my face,” Link insists from his new horizontal home on the ground, “and you told me to taste it.”

“And you set the study of potionmaking in Hyrule back by a hundred years when you refused,” Zelda tells him, mounting Snowdrop with an ease that soothes her soul. “Come on, Snowdrop,” she tells the mare, gently kicking her up into a walk. “We’re going to go see Impa, who would _totally_ have sampled a frog if I asked her to.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Link calls from behind her, and Zelda makes a rude gesture over her shoulder at him. A few yards down the road Tulip catches up with Snowdrop, and Zelda keeps her gaze forward, her face a mask of refinement. They ride in something close to silence for a few minutes, and then Link bursts into wheezy laughter.

“It’s not funny,” Zelda says, keeping her mouth from twitching with all her power.

“It was pretty funny,” Link insists between giggles. The laughter fades as he gets himself under control, and they make it another fifty yards up the road before he makes a weird sort of hiccuping sound and starts up again. “You should have seen your face!” he cackles, apparently giving up on any semblance of stoicism and giving himself over utterly to silent, convulsive hysteria.

“You’re horrible,” Zelda tells him, finally turning to look at the absolute mess he’s become. Link wipes his streaming eyes, gasps in a breath of air, and replies easily, “Yeah, but you love it.”

“The absolute _worst_ ,” Zelda insists as cover for the way her heart rolls over at those words. They’re too close to the truth, and the truth isn’t something she wants to admit to herself just yet, so she kicks Snowdrop up into a full gallop and trusts he’ll catch up with her.

Their remaining ride turns into a race to Kakariko, hoofbeats ringing off the walls of the canyon. Tulip has stamina and the benefit of longer legs, but Snowdrop is quick as lightning and nimble as a trained dancer, darting through the switchbacks with an ease that leaves Zelda breathless. She leans into an upcoming turn, her body remembering what to do, and just like that the village rises up to meet her, carved into the valley. Snowdrop shoots under the gate with a thunder of hooves, and Zelda reins her in before they go crashing over a wooden bridge. It takes a moment for her to catch her breath and her balance, before she can pause and really _look_.

Her first, wild thought is that the Calamity never happened, because it’s just like she remembers it, thick thatched roofs and wooden Sheikah gates and the smell of rich cypress heated in the sun. In the next breath the differences hit her, the banners a different color, the trees larger or smaller or gone entirely to be replaced by a stump or a new building. It’s quieter, too, less bustling and crowded than the last time she was here a century before, and she realizes that while the Sheikah aren’t gone, they’ve dwindled. _Like the rest of Hyrule_ , she thinks with a wry sort of sadness, and breathes the cypress-scented air deep into her lungs.

“Well, aren’t you in a hurry?”

The voice is so unexpected Zelda almost falls off her horse and grabs the saddle with both hands to stay upright. A moment’s fierce investigation reveals the source as an old Sheikah woman seated comfortably under a tree just at the village entrance. She eyes Zelda with a knowing, wary glint. “Don’t get too many visitors these days,” she continues with a sip of her tea, “let alone ones in such a rush.”

Before Zelda can muster up an answer, a mighty clopping announces Tulip’s arrival. The old woman’s suspicious eyes go from Zelda to over her shoulder, and her face lights up. “Link!” she says, all wariness gone. “How good to see you again!”

“Hey, Nanna,” he says, dismounting and leading Tulip over the bridge. “How’s the ankle?”

“Oh, it comes and goes. No use complaining about it.” Link accepts her hug with good humor, and submits to her inspection of his face “In case you went and hurt it, dearie,” like a grandson playing out a routine. Nanna turns to Zelda as she dismounts, that shrewd look back in her eye. “So is this young lady a friend of yours, Link?”

Before either of them can reply, Nanna’s eyes fix on Zelda’s face as she steps across the bridge, flicking from her golden hair to her green eyes to Link and back. “As I live and breathe,” the old woman whispers, covering her mouth with one shaking hand. “Princess Zelda? Is it really you?”

Zelda intends to go for a normal, everyday greeting, but to her surprise and embarrassment Link drops to one knee and bows his head. “Presenting her Royal Highness, Princess Zelda Luciana Hyrule; High Priestess of the Temple of Time; Golden Daughter of Hylia; She Who Seals the Darkness; Last Scion of the Royal Line.” His voice is soft but sure, intense in a way she hasn’t heard before.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Link,” Zelda snaps, blushing under Nanna’s wide-eyed, reverent stare. “I’m wearing a child’s rag dress and sandals that are a hundred years old, I think we can dispense with the formal introductions.” She drops the reins so she can clasp Nanna’s hand in hers, the warm, dry skin paper-thin under her fingers. “It’s an honor to meet you, Nanna,” she says sincerely. “Sorry I just swore, my knight can be infuriating.”

“He can certainly be a handful,” Nanna says as though by reflex, wiping her wet eyes with her free hand. “Is it done, then?” she asks, gazing up at Zelda with pure desperate hope on her lined face. “Is the Calamity gone?”

“It is,” Zelda confirms with relish. “Ganondorf will trouble no one again in my lifetime.”

“Oh, Princess,” Nanna says, weeping in earnest now. “Thank you, thank you. Hylia’s blessings be upon you, child. We always knew you could do it. We kept the faith.” She moves to sit down, her legs unsteady under the weight of her tears, and Zelda carefully guides the old woman back to the ground next to the fire and pours her another cup of tea from the waiting pot. “No, no,” Nanna says, waving her off. “Don’t fuss about me, child! Go see Impa! She’ll want to speak to you immediately!” Zelda hesitates while Nanna makes shooing noises, finally turning back to Link who is still, infuriatingly, kneeling.

“Get up,” she hisses at him, her cheeks pink. She snatches up Snowdrop’s reins and stalks past him into the village proper. “When did you even remember the formal introductions?” she mutters, not expecting an answer, but Link’s ears are keen and he says, “About five minutes ago,” falling into step three paces back and one to the side, like he always _used_ to, and for a second she can’t breathe.

“Please don’t do it again,” she says, turning to catch his eyes. “I’m not… I’m not _her_ , anymore.” He looks like he wants to argue, his throat working, but he says nothing and nods. The packed dirt path forks ahead of them, one branch running up the side of the mountain, the other leading further downhill, between wood-timbered buildings built to withstand biting mountain winds and massive blizzards. That’s the branch Zelda chooses, her feet remembering the way to Impa’s house. She thinks a couple of the buildings have been completely rebuilt, still in the same style but the shapes slightly different, the timbers not quite what she saw the last time her feet walked these streets.

“Liiiiiiiink!” comes the high-pitched squeal of a child, and a pale blur shoots past Zelda to collide with her knight’s legs. “Link Link Link!” the little girl chants as Zelda turns to watch, “Are you here to play tag again?” She has both chubby hands fisted in the hem of Link’s tunic, bouncing up and down on her toes with the boundless energy of small children everywhere. Zelda’s a little jealous of that tirelessness, to be honest.

“Hey, Cottla,” Link says, dropping to one knee so the girl doesn’t have to crane her neck. “I’d love to play tag, but I’m on a very important mission right now. Have you heard of Princess Zelda?”

“Of course!” Cottla yells at the top of her tiny lungs. “She’s in the castle and you’re going to save her!”

Truly, Link is a hero, because he doesn’t wince at having this information imparted to him at top volume from less than two feet away. “That’s right,” he says, “except she’s not in the castle anymore.” He sets his hands on Cottla’s shoulders and gently turns her to face Zelda, who arranges her face into princessly neutrality so as to not give away how painfully adorable she finds this. “Cottla, I’d like you to meet Her High--” Link cuts himself off as Zelda shoots Guardian beams out her eyes at him, and regroups with, “My friend, Princess Zelda.”

Zelda drops to a knee as regally as she can in a dress soon destined for the rag bin and meets the little girl’s skeptical gaze. “Hello, Cottla,” she says. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

Cottla narrows her eyes. “You don’t _look_ like a princess,” she accuses, and Zelda has to admit she has a point. “I don’t,” she agrees, leaning in conspiratorially. “But that’s because I’m in disguise.”

Cottla’s eyes go round. “So the monsters don’t get you!” she breathes, and Zelda bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling and nods. “Exactly. It’s very important that I go speak to Impa. Can you help make sure I get there safely?”

Cottla nods emphatically, practically vibrating with excitement. “Thank you,” Zelda says, shaking the inexplicably sticky small hand with the solemnity of a general greeting troops. “I knew I could trust you.”

“We have to go talk to Impa now, Cottla,” Link says, leaning in to carefully extricate Zelda’s hand from both of Cottla’s, as apparently the child hasn’t learned how handshakes work yet.

“You’ll come play tag with me, though?” Cottla’s eyes go huge and watery. Zelda can almost hear the sound of audible sparkles as she turns that pleading gaze on Link, lower lip wobbling slightly as the icing on the cake.

“As soon as we’re done talking to Impa,” he says, hands on Cottla’s shoulders and his face sincere. “I promise.”

“Okay,” Cottla says, and then she whips around and sprints pell-mell down the hill, screaming, “LINK’S HERE! LINK’S HERE AND HE BROUGHT PRINCESS ZELDA! SHE SAYS SHE NEEDS TO TALK TO IMPA!” Silence reigns for a moment, and then, from the distance, a man’s voice says, “ _What?!_ ”

Zelda laughs so hard she _wheezes_ , clutching to Snowdrop’s tack to stay upright. “So much for subtlety,” she gasps out between convulsions. In her blurry peripheral vision Link sighs, covering his eyes with one hand. “I could have thought that through a bit more,” he admits, his voice as self-deprecating as she’s ever heard it.

“Thanks for not using the formal greeting, at least.” Zelda wipes her eyes and regains her grasp on Snowdrop’s reins, the horse unmoved by the misadventures of her humans. When they reach the bottom of the hill and Impa’s house comes into view, she lets out a breath that comes from her tense shoulders, somehow. It’s exactly the same as she remembers, the paint a little different and the banners updated, some of the risers on the stairs a color that speaks to their replacement within the last year, but it’s still _here_. She hadn’t realized before this moment how worried she was about Impa, and the absence of that tension is startling.

“Link!” calls one of the men guarding the staircase, the one who has Cottla running in circles around his knees. “Cottla says you brought the princess?”

“She’s in _disguise_ , Dad!” Cottla interjects firmly.

“Cottla says you brought the _disguised_ princess?” the man amends, his impressive eyebrows and sideburns twitching as he keeps his face solemn.

“He did,” Zelda says, stepping forward with her spine straight. Both gazes snap to her, their weight heavy. For a long, weary moment she wonders if she should have kept the horrible white dress, because while it had been through hell, it at least made her look like a _princess_ who had been through hell. No sooner has that thought crossed her mind then both men drop to one knee with a smooth, practiced grace, their heads bowed. “Your Highness,” says the one with the sideburns. “It is an honor.”

“Impa has kept watch over the castle for many years,” says the other, who has a magnificent goatee. “She’s been expecting you. Please, Highness, be welcome.” He gestures to the staircase, his head still bowed, and Zelda fucking _hates_ people kneeling for her. It makes her feel like a liar, somehow.

“Thank you very much for your kind welcome,” she says, as warmly as she can, shoving aside the spike of guilt and shame. “It’s wonderful to see Kakariko Village again.” Then, a moment later, when no one has moved, she adds, “Please stand up, there’s no call for ceremony.” Snowdrop whuffs and tugs against the reins a bit, scenting apples from a nearby shrine offering, and Zelda amends, “There is, however, a call for someone to take care of my horse.”

“Of course, my lady Zelda,” the one with the goatee says, materializing at her elbow to take the reins. “It would be my honor.”

“Thank you, sir…?” Zelda smiles at him, the picture of grace and poise, and he flushes under her gaze. “Cado, your Highness.” The other one, Cottla’s father, is named Dorian, and he stays on guard at the base of the stairs as Cado takes their horses off elsewhere. The staircase looms before her, taller and longer and more daunting than it is in reality, and Zelda takes a deep breath. Shoulders back, eyes forward, chin high.

She moves forward.

The anxiety hovering at the back of her mind builds with each step, buzzing over her skin and sinking cold claws into her gut. How much has Impa changed? Is she disappointed in Zelda? Does she resent having to wait a hundred years? What will she think of Zelda now? It speeds her heart, rising to a fever pitch as her feet hit the timbers of the deck, and she reaches behind her, unseeing, her hand out and her mind whirling--

Link’s hand meets hers, warm and firm under the leather of his gloves, and he interlaces their fingers as he steps up beside her. “You okay?” he asks in a low voice, pressing his shoulder into hers, and she shivers. “Nervous,” she admits, her lungs taking in a blessedly full breath for the first time in what feels like a year, and soaks up the solid reassurance of his presence.

“Don’t be,” he says, his voice still low and a little rough and doing something to the skin on the back of her neck. “Impa loves you. She misses you. She’s gonna be so happy to see you.” He squeezes her hand one more time and steps back, releasing her so she stands on her own. Zelda takes a deep breath and rolls her shoulders back again. She walked into Hyrule Castle in a tattered dress, alone but for her faith. This? This is child’s play.

She steps forward and flings open the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the time I got to that "Eat this frog" memory my Link had captured and eaten like six hundred frogs, because he's a feral little goblin child. How dare you not eat Zelda's frog, my dude


	5. Chapter 5

Zelda gets about three steps inside the room, spots Impa, and somehow without any intervening time or movement ends up sprawled across the old woman’s lap, holding on for dear life as she sobs. “Oh, you poor dear,” Impa croons, her cool hands stroking over Zelda’s cropped hair in a way that makes her ache for her mother, dead all these long years. “Oh, my dear, you did it. That’s a good girl, go ahead and let it all out.” After that Zelda hears nothing but soothing nonsense, words that don’t matter but that carry kindness with them, and some time later she pushes upright on shaky arms and meets Impa’s eyes.

“Well,” she says with a sniffle. “That wasn’t how I planned this to go.”

Impa smiles, the lines in her face crinkling up, her eyes exactly the same except for the weight of the years. “That was _exactly_ how I thought it would go.” Her eyes go over Zelda’s shoulder and the smile deepens as she adds, “And it seems I’m not the only one.”

Zelda turns to find Link pouring tea into a delicate porcelain cup, having apparently used her breakdown to appropriate an entire Sheikah tea set and brew a pot that smells of toasted rice. He looks up, meets her gaze, and hands over a handkerchief without speaking or even changing his facial expression. “Am I that predictable?” she asks him, not expecting an answer as she blows her nose without the slightest thought for protocol or decorum. He sets the pot down with a shrug and signs, _I like to be useful. Also, I wanted tea. Impa?_

“I see you’ve remembered how to brew a proper genmaicha,” Impa says, graciously accepting the passed cup with the gravitas of a queen. Link’s mouth quirks as he passes a second cup to Zelda and, once his hands are free, replies, _Oh, no, I re-learned that one by trial and error. I brewed some real horrorshows before I figured it out._

Zelda shudders theatrically. “Well, thank Hylia, I missed out on that portion of your recovery, then.” Link rolls his eyes at her while he pours a third cup of tea for himself and settles comfortably on the bamboo mat. Zelda rolls her eyes at him harder, turning back to Impa to find her mentor’s gaze flicking between the two of them with a knowing glint in her eyes. Zelda raises one eyebrow in question and Impa’s smile only deepens as she takes a serene sip of her tea. Fine. Impa can keep her secrets. Zelda turns away, inhaling the grassy, toasted-rice-scented steam rising from her cup, and notices Link has set out a fourth teacup. “Are we expecting someone else?” she asks, taking a sip, and no sooner are the words out of her mouth then he cocks his head, listening. A moment later she hears it too, hurried footsteps coming up the front steps, and then the door thumps open and a lovely young Sheikah woman bursts in.

“Grandmother?” she blurts, eyes wild. “Is it true?” She spots Zelda, first, and then Link, and then her gaze comes back to Zelda and her eyes go, somehow, even wider. “Your Highness!” she says, going incredibly pink before she throws herself on the floor in a full supplicating bow that gives Zelda an immediate, embarrassed tension headache. “I’m so sorry for just bursting in--I didn’t--I mean--”

“Princess Zelda,” says Impa dryly, “may I present my granddaughter, Paya. Paya, please get off the floor and come meet Princess Zelda properly.”

“Yes, please do,” Zelda says, trying to make her smile welcoming and non-threatening. “I just cried on your grandmother for ten minutes, I’m hardly Her Highness right now.”

Paya does not stop blushing, but she does stop pressing her forehead to the floor, knee-walking over to sit on Impa’s other side. Link offers her the fourth cup of tea, which she takes with a squeak, her face going even redder. Zelda flicks her eyes between the two of them a few times and, when Paya’s gaze is elsewhere, raises an eyebrow at Link, tipping her head subtly in Paya’s direction. Link nods and widens his eyes in a thousand-yard stare, resigned, and Zelda has to take another sip of her tea to cover her snort. A century later and everyone still has a crush on her knight. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Impa waits with quiet patience for everyone to arrange themselves, Paya on her right, Zelda on her left, Link just to the side of Zelda, close enough that if she reaches out a hand she could rest it on his knee. “Now then,” she says, her aged voice all business. “Where do you want to start, my child?”

Zelda takes a deep breath, holds it for a second, and blows it out thoughtfully. “I need to know,” she says slowly, “what happened while I was Hylia. I was… _aware_ of Hyrule, but tell me what happened as if I was a _person._ ”

Paya looks confused. Link bows his head and takes a sip of his tea, understanding more than probably anyone else ever will. Impa shuts her eyes, preparing herself, and then meets Zelda’s gaze again with steel in her spine. “I suppose, then, we’ll start with what happened after you went into the castle.”

It’s not a short story, and it’s not one that’s easy to listen to. Impa speaks through three pots of tea, telling her about those awful first days after the Calamity, about the desperate attempts of the Sheikah to guide refugees to safety when they didn’t know where to find it. She tells her about the Guardians, about the places where brave people were able to destroy them with concentrated attacks, and the places that simply had to be ceded to the ancient machines and the malevolent power inside of them. She talks about the Hylians that fled over the seas to what they hoped were safer lands, and the Hylians who refused to abandon their home to the Calamity. At some point a meat pie appears in Zelda’s hand, and she eats it without tasting it as Impa tells her about the destruction, the burned fields, the devastated landscape, so harsh and cruel they despaired of it ever recovering. Zelda wipes her face of hot, angry tears, familiar rage and guilt roiling in her gut because _this could have been avoided_ , if anyone had just _answered her prayers_ \--

But Impa’s still talking, and Zelda wrestles her attention back from that pit of despair to listen. Impa tells her about the small villages, isolated like Kakariko, who opened their doors to take in the displaced. She tells her about the rebuilding efforts, those who braved the monsters and Guardians to set up rickety wood bridges on the bones of where stone causeways used to stand. She tells her about the stables, clawing safety out of the landscape, creating pockets of warmth and shelter for those brave enough to still roam the roads and acting as a crucial communication lifeline when all others collapsed. She tells her about the land healing, plants and animals spreading to cover the destruction with new life, forests springing up over the bones of the dead to carry their memories into the sky. Impa tells her about a hundred thousand tiny kindnesses, about people joining together to plow a field, to build a house, to celebrate a wedding or a birth or mourn the dead. She tells her about a Hyrule that bent under the weight of tragedy, almost to the ground, but refused to break.

There are tears on Zelda’s face when Impa’s voice finally falters, hoarse from the retelling. The old woman falls silent as Link leans in to refill her teacup, and Zelda shuts her eyes, breathing in the smell of green tea and cypress. The goddess-trance is still there, in her heart, and she dives into the golden swirling light, taking Impa’s words and slotting them into place alongside her memories. Here, when she felt those many feet together on the shore under the palms, that was a house being built in Lurelin. This aching grief that echoed in the bones of the land was a mass burial at Fort Hateno. Tiny quiet joys and huge screaming rages and through it all the thrum of a people living, getting by, and helping each other get by, she shelves it all in the library of her mind, adding context to the abstract. She runs the fingers of her imagined hands over the stardust spines and through her tears she smiles.

Three pairs of eyes await her when she resurfaces, and she waves off Link’s proffered teapot gently. “Thank you, Impa,” she says, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief again.

“Of course, dear child,” Impa says with a weary smile. Silence blankets the room for a moment, heavy on the air, and finally Impa asks, “What do you want to do next?”

A massive yawn nearly cracks Zelda’s jaw in two, her body answering the question before her mind can. “Take a nap,” she says bluntly, suddenly too weary for any level of politeness. She wavers in her seat on the floor and Link catches her by the shoulder to keep her upright, sliding closer in a smooth motion so she can flop back against his chest.

“Are you ill?” Impa asks, her voice concerned although Zelda can’t really focus on her face right now. “No,” she says vaguely. “Not really. My body’s just not used to this.”

“Not used to what?” Paya asks, apparently curious enough to forget her shyness. Zelda’s too drowsy to answer, and Link’s chest rumbles under her when he replies, “Existing.” Goddesses, she likes getting to hear him talk from this close, like his words are becoming part of her body somehow. “Princess,” he says from so close to her ear his breath puffs against her skin, “do you want me to get you upstairs? Paya has a bed you can use.”

“No,” she says. “Here’s good.” That’s not an explanation, so after a moment she manages, “Close to Impa. Please.”

“I live to serve,” he whispers, and Zelda shivers, the hair prickling up the back of her neck, and promptly passes out.

\---

Voices murmur around Zelda, feeling very far away but slowly coming closer, and she makes a “Mmmf,” sort of sound and tries to curl further into her pillow. Her pillow chuckles and pats her on the head, which is emphatically _not_ a thing pillows do, so she blinks bleary eyes open to investigate this new scientific mystery of pillows that laugh and move.

“Oh, so you’ve returned to us,” Impa says, her face upside down, and after a moment of confused squinting Zelda figures out that she’s laying with her head in Impa’s lap.

“Looks that way,” Zelda allows. Hmm, should she sit up? She should probably sit up. Zelda takes a deep breath, grasping for her muscular control, and Impa drops a hand to her shoulder and holds her down with a surprising firmness for her stooped frame. “No, no,” she says, “stay there a little longer. It’s been far too long since I had a granddaughter who wanted to lay in my lap and I find I quite missed it.”

Good, since Zelda’s pretty sure sitting up wouldn’t have worked out well just yet. She relaxes, and Impa goes back to stroking her hair. “Granddaughter?” Zelda says after a moment, pretending to be insulted. “You are at most five years older than me.”

“Yes, well,” Impa says, the smile lines around her eyes deepening, “the years weren’t as kind to me as they were to you.”

“Oh, Impa.” Zelda keeps her face deadpan and sincere, reaching up one hand to catch Impa’s and squeeze it. “You don’t look a day over ninety.”

Impa throws her head back and cackles, the chains on her enormous hat rattling. “Oh, just for that--” she insinuates her hands under Zelda’s shoulders and, with an efficient _twist_ , flips Zelda onto the floor so quickly it leaves her breathless “--you don’t get my lap anymore.”

“I fight the Calamity for a hundred years,” Zelda says, face to the bamboo mat, “and this is the thanks I get? See if I do it again.”

Impa cackles again, and the sound of it releases a weight from somewhere deep inside Zelda’s chest. The old woman sounds a little bit surprised when she laughs, like she wasn’t quite expecting it, and Zelda thinks maybe she didn’t get to laugh as much over the last century as she should have. “I always knew there was a spitfire hiding under that mask of royal refinement,” Impa says proudly. “It’s nice to get to meet her at last.” When Zelda rolls over it’s to find Impa’s dark eyes on her, warm and caring. “How are you, Zelda?” she asks, and Zelda understands the depth of the question.

“I’m well,” Zelda says, and it’s not a lie. “I’m still getting used to being a person again, and sometimes my body decides to just shut down, hence--” she gestures at Impa’s lap “--but I’m _done_ , Impa. He’s gone, and sometimes I want to cry because I don’t know what to do now, and sometimes I want to laugh myself silly because of how free I feel, and then sometimes I trip over my own fucking feet because I forget how they work.” An instant after the curse leaves her mouth she claps a hand over her mouth and flushes. “Sorry,” she says through her hand. “I didn’t mean to--”

“Oh, don’t fucking censor yourself for me, my child,” Impa says, smirking when Zelda gapes at her. “I’m a hundred and twenty and I have _seen_ some _shit_ , you can’t shock me.” The laugh that bubbles out of Zelda’s throat is a startled, half-choked thing, and it makes Impa smile deeper. “You’re both freer now,” she observes, her gaze going disant. “You and your knight. I’m not… glad, for the Calamity, but I am glad for the chance to see you without the weight you carried then.”

“Where is Link?” Zelda asks, sitting up without too much of a struggle. A lance of worry shoots through her, he hasn’t been out of her earshot since she woke up, is he _gone_ \--

“I sent him out to play with Cottla when he made it clear that otherwise he was going to kneel on my floor and watch you nap for two hours,” Impa says dryly. “It took some convincing.” There’s something knowing about the curve of her mouth, and Zelda looks away and wills her ears not to flush.

“He’s very protective,” she says in a neutral tone of voice.

“Protective?” Impa asks, clearly not fooled for a second. “Is that what we’re calling it these days? When I was your age we called it ‘head over heels--’”

“ _Impa_ ,” Zelda cuts in firmly, using her Formal Voice, her heart racing. “Please. I have had a body again for two days. His memory is full of holes deep enough for a Zora to swim in. Leave it alone.”

Impa, blessedly, doesn’t press the point, though from the glint in her eyes Zelda’s response has only added more arrows to her quiver. “Well,” she says after a long moment. “I suppose what’s left to ask is this: What do you want to do, Princess Zelda?”

That’s the question, isn’t it? The pertinent one, the one that will haunt her until she answers it. Zelda rolls out her shoulders and her neck while she thinks it over, sitting up straight, chin up. “Short-term,” she says, eyes on the door but her mind elsewhere, “I want to get some gods damned boots, and clothes that didn’t come from a rag bin. I want to sleep in a real bed at the inn tonight, and soak in the bathhouse for an hour tomorrow. I want a journal so I can catalog my recovery. I want to stay in Kakariko for a few days until I know I’m done falling asleep at random.” _I want to do all of that with Link, and maybe press him up against a wall or tree or boulder,_ she emphatically does _not_ say, because she’s not going to do it so she should try not to think about it too much. Dragging her thoughts back to her blank, terrifying future, she chews her lower lip and says slowly, “Once I’ve recovered… I want to travel. I need to see Hyrule as it is now, with my eyes, feel it under my feet. I need to know it as a person does, know it as it is _now_ , know the people and the towns and the plants and the land, before I can decide what I want to do.” Her fingers flex against each other in her lap, anxieties working themselves out under her skin. “I don’t know what kind of princess Hyrule needs. Not yet. I need to know that before I can make any decisions.”

“Mmm,” Impa agrees, “That sounds wise. Go on, then.” She leans over and gives Zelda a nudge toward the door. “There are no boots in here. Go find your devoted knight. I’m sure he’d like to get his hands on you again.”

“You are the worst,” Zelda tells her as she climbs to her feet.

“Yes, I missed you, too,” Impa replies serenely. Zelda considers making a rude gesture on her way out the door, but decides to take the mature route. It’s a good choice, since Paya’s just outside, and while Zelda is absolutely willing to engage Impa in a friendly exchange of insults, Paya is still a stranger and she’d like to make a good impression. Well, she reflects, perhaps adjust the current impression to a better one, since so far Paya has seen her drink a lot of tea and then abruptly fall asleep. The Sheikah woman leans on the railing, smiling softly as Link and Cottla play tag far below them in the village plaza. There’s a lot of squealing.

“Who’s winning?” Zelda asks, setting her elbows on the railing, eyes on the pitched tag battle. Link has the advantage of, well, _everything_ , but Cottla has the advantage of being painfully adorable, and that’s one thing he can’t defend against.

“Y--your Highness!” Paya blurts, trying to back away and bow at the same time. This proves to not the most stable choice of activities, as she ends up tripping over her own feet and Zelda has to snatch her wrist to keep her upright. “Just Zelda is fine,” she says as Paya regains her balance. “And I will take it as a very kind personal favor if you would please stop bowing.”

“But,” Paya protests, red all the way out to the tips of her ears, “you’re the P-Princess! Grandmother has made the etiquette very clear!”

Zelda sighs internally, because of course Impa has, and of course this child raised on stories of the castle would want to live them out. She looks into Paya’s earnest face and feels, suddenly, very old. Okay. Different strategy, then.

“Listen, Paya,” she says, leaning in to make the conversation conspiratorial. “I’m going to make you a deal: I promise that one day I will come back here in full princess regalia, and you will greet me in a formal reception, and on that day we will curtsey to each other and eat tiny sandwiches and sip delicately from crystal flutes and I will teach you all the old court dances. I will be the absolute picture of a princess, and you can use all the etiquette you like, but until that day I am begging you to please call me Zelda.” She waves a hand expressively. “Pretend I’m your sister or something.”

Wide, amazed eyes look back at her, Paya clearly considering it even as she hesitates. “I _have_ always wanted a sister,” she says slowly, testing the words out in her mouth. _Come on, please_ , Zelda begs mentally as she watches Paya think it over. “Would--would I also get to wear a fancy dress at this formal reception?” she asks eventually, and Zelda wants to weep with relief.

“I will help you design it,” she promises.

After another moment’s hesitation, Paya moves in next to Zelda at the railing, still tense but not as tightly-strung. “Then I would like that very much, Your--Zelda.”

Zelda smiles at her, no artifice in it, and Paya finds it within herself to smile back, and things feel, for a moment, _normal_. “So, then,” Zelda says, turning back to the tag battle with a tactical air, “how are our combatants faring?”

“Oh!” Paya sounds like she forgot the game was happening at all, and refocuses her attention. “Well, obviously, Sir Link has a series of natural advantages, being a fully-grown adult with adult-size legs--”

“Even if he is a total shorty,” Zelda cuts in, and Paya sputters at her for a moment. “He’s--I mean--yes, well, I suppose he is rather on the short side, but Cottla is even shorter.”

“Barely.”

“ _Princess!_ ” Paya sounds so genuinely horrified that Zelda relents with a smile and gestures her to continue.

“So, as I was saying, Sir Link has the longer stride, and also the advantage of knowing how his arms and legs work, which Cottla is definitely still working on. He’s also the Hero of Time, and capable of physical feats that would boggle the mind, or so I understand.” Her dark eyes slide to Zelda, a question in the shape of her brows.

“It’s true.” Zelda sucks in air through her teeth and shakes her head, playing up her reaction. “The mind does truly boggle to see him in action. I mean, sweet goddesses, have you seen his _horse?_ ”

“Tulip is the most terrifying thing I have ever seen in my life,” Paya agrees emphatically, drumming her fingers on the railing. “But, back to the subject at hand: You would think that with all of Sir Link’s advantages in skill, size, and age, it would be an easy win for him, but somehow Cottla thrashes him at every turn.” She shakes her head, cheeks still flushed but fighting a smile. “It’s truly inexplicable.”

Down below them, Link flees from a Cottla running as fast as her little legs can take her. “I’ll get you!” the little girl bellows, probably audible from the surrounding mountains.

“Never!” Link puts on a burst of speed, easily outpacing her. Freedom is within his grasp when he stumbles over _absolutely nothing_ and goes sprawling ass over teakettle on the ground. Cottla sprints up to him, slaps his shoulder, and yells, “Tag! You’re it!” She fairly leaves a cloud of dust in her wake as she tears off in the other direction, leaving Link panting on the dirt.

“Hmm, yes,” Zelda says, stroking her chin. “Inexplicable.”

Link pushes up to an elbow and glances up at them on the balcony. Their eyes meet, and Zelda’s heart stops briefly because the way Link’s face lights up when he sees her is like nothing she’s ever experienced before. It’s absolutely ridiculous, they’ve been apart a maximum of three hours, there’s no reason she should feel like the sun has come out from behind a cloud just because of how he’s _looking_ at her.

“Oh,” Paya says from her right, and there’s just a little sadness in her voice. Zelda turns to find Paya examining her face, and she nods after a moment. “I--I think Sir Link has found you rooms at the inn,” she says, her eyes going back down to the man in question before they flick to Zelda’s face again. “I’ll--I’ll just--”

Zelda’s hand snaps out to grab Paya’s wrist before she can flee. “Will you show me around Kakariko tomorrow?” she asks, because goddesses, this was going _well_ , she was making a _friend_ , please… “I’d love to hear what it’s like to have Impa as a doting grandmother.”

Paya blushes, her eyes slipping back to Link, again, but she nods.

“Thank you,” Zelda tells her sincerely, and Paya darts into the house as soon as her wrist is free. The stairs down to the village plaza are much less intimidating going down, and she arrives in time to see Link sending Cottla off to play with her sister.

“Did you play tag with her the entire time I was asleep?” she asks him, nodding to Dorian and Cado as she steps onto the packed earth. Sweat shines on Link’s forehead, dirt on the knees of his trousers, his hair adorably rumpled. Zelda tries not to leer but it’s a real challenge.

 _Might have,_ Link allows, kneeling to pull a waterskin out of his set-aside pack. He takes a long pull, Zelda unable to look away from his throat working as he swallows, and when his hands are free he adds, _Someone has to wear her out so Dorian can put her to bed at a reasonable hour._

“And your service is much appreciated,” Dorian says with real gratitude. Link gives him a wave as he shrugs his pack back on and falls into step next to Zelda as she meanders across the plaza toward a pond with a statue of Hylia in it. There are water lilies blooming in it, pink and green against the shimmering blue, and a wave of overwhelming gratitude hits her like a slap to the face that Kakariko is still here, that _Hyrule_ is still here, and she has to take a moment to breathe through it.

“Princess?” Link asks, his fingers brushing her elbow through the linen of her sleeve, and Zelda jolts back into her body in a dizzying rush. His whole face is a question, and she shakes her head and shrugs a shoulder in answer, because is there an explanation for what’s happening to her? For what’s happened to both of them? Thank Hylia for her knight, because he accepts these incoherent gestures as an actual answer, his brows relaxing, his eyes bright, and he asks, _What now?_

“Boots.” Her voice is firm and brooks no contradictions. “Socks. Clothes actually made to fit me.” Zelda pauses as she counts her demands out on her fingers, considering. “A journal. A pen. Dinner. And by the time we’re done with all that, probably bed, if my energy levels today continue in our previously established trend.”

 _I live to serve_. Link jerks his head to the left, leading her back up the hill to a building with a sign outside that reads “Enchanted.” _I’m sure Claree has dreamed of designing for a princess_.

“As long as she’s dreamed of designing trousers for that princess I’m sure we’ll get along famously.”

Claree, it turns out, had not dreamed of designing trousers for a princess, but she’s willing to throw herself into the challenge. Lasli, her sister, holds up bolts of fabric and backs up all of Zelda’s requests for practicality and simple designs. The ready-to-wear collection contains a few tunics, a dress, and some trousers and hose that fit Zelda well enough that they only need minor alterations. While Claree sews furiously, Lasli locates and presents a pair of sturdy leather boots. They fit when Zelda tries them on and she almost bursts into tears.

“Would you like the sandals back, your Highness?” Lasli asks, handing over a stack of soft knitted socks.

“Oh, good goddesses, no. Burn them. Bury them. Put them in a museum of historical relics.” Zelda hugs her new socks to her heart, glaring at the battered sandals in Lasli’s hands. “I’m never wearing them again.”

Lasli bows her head. “It shall be as you say, your Highness,” she says, her tone serious, but Zelda rather suspects she’s hiding a smile.

By the time they leave, Zelda has enough of a wardrobe in-hand to last her a week before she needs to do laundry, with an order placed for some custom work as well. She insists on getting a set of the Sheikah armor for herself, and negotiates undergarments actually designed to fit while Link stares determinedly into a corner, his face gone pink. They exit the shop into early evening light, all blue and rose, and Link leads her back down the hill and past an outdoor kitchen to the general store. Trissa, the old woman behind the counter, is absolutely delighted to get to fuss over a princess, though she seems to fuss just as much over Link and has little patience for formal ceremonies. Once she understands Zelda’s absolute lack of literally anything to her name but some ceremonial jewelry and a complicated legacy, she tears through the store to assemble a package of necessities. Zelda doesn’t even see everything that goes into the bundle, but when Trissa shoos her out the door to “Go get some proper rest, poor thing,” there’s a thick leather bound journal and a calligraphy set in Zelda’s hands and an amused smile on Link’s face as he swings the bulging, fabric-wrapped package.

“We should get a bag for my things,” Zelda thinks out loud as she settles onto a bench near the cooking pot, eyes on the decorative carp below her in the water around Impa’s house. “And then we can put my bag inside your bag and when I need something you can just take out the whole bag instead of rummaging in there forever.”

Link hmms an agreeable sound, meat sizzling on hot metal over the fire. Zelda examines her new calligraphy set, running her fingers over the pens and nibs, the little travel inkwell, the solid inks and the ink grinder. It’s tempting to set everything up and get to journaling, but from the smell of things dinner is nearly ready, and now that she’s not actively moving she can feel the familiar weariness waiting in the distance to roll in, like a storm on the horizon. _Tomorrow_ , she promises the pens and journal as she closes everything up and sets it to the side. _We’ll get acquainted tomorrow_.

Dinner is a spicy meat and vegetable stir fry served over rice, and Zelda has two servings, almost keeping up with Link’s appetite. The storm cloud of sleep creeps closer as she eats, and as soon as her bowl is empty the second time she pushes it away and stands up. “I have approximately half an hour before I pass out again,” she tells Link, gathering up her new, precious journal. “The inn?”

 _Of course, Princess._ It’s just across the street, thankfully, and even more thankfully he’s arranged for them to have the private suite upstairs. She remembers this from a hundred years ago, when it was called the royal suite, and things aren’t as lavish as they were but there’s still a sitting area, a private water closet, and a bedroom with two beds. They prepare for the night in a well-practiced routine, orbiting around each other for maximum efficiency and privacy. It’s still beautifully intimate to see Link dressed for bed, soft linens and soft lamplight making him glow like something out of a painting by the old masters. She curls up on one of the floor cushions and watches him through her lashes as he cleans his teeth and precedes her into the bedroom. When she’s finished with her own ablutions she follows him in, yawning, to find him in the smaller of the two beds. _Under the covers_ , even.

“Are we sharing that one?” she asks, curling her toes against the bamboo mat beneath her. She’s not opposed to cramming in together on a bed meant for one person, but it seems a shame to waste the big one, where they could both starfish out if they wanted to.

Link freezes, eyes wide like he wasn’t expecting her to catch him. _No,_ he signs, sitting up, pink creeping across his cheeks. _You can get into that one, I was just… I was making this one look slept in_. He looks away, and by all three of the goddesses and every household spirit, Zelda wants to wriggle into that little bed with him and give him something to _really_ blush about. She digs the fingernails of one hand into her palm, behind her back where he can’t see. _Control_ , she reminds herself.

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” she says in her most regal voice, crossing to the larger bed and climbing in. “I suppose one of us ought to care about the appearance of propriety, and it’s certainly not going to be me.” Oh, bless Kakariko, and bless the innkeeper, and bless whoever actually constructed this bed. Zelda swishes her bare legs against the smooth linen sheets and lets out a groan that comes from the depths of her soul. “I love this bed,” she tells the ceiling. “I’m going to knight this bed and make it swear an oath of loyalty to me, so it has to follow me everywhere.”

The mattress shifts as Link sits on the edge of it, and she turns her face to him so she can watch his hands. _How is that going to work?_ he asks, eyes dark and amused in the flicker of the lamp. _I don’t think it’ll fit in the pack._

“We’ll put wheels on it and Tulip can pull it,” she says, waving a hand dismissively, and reaches that hand out to grasp at his fingertips. The bed is large enough that she can just barely reach, and she tugs at him ineffectually. “Come on,” she orders, shifting her shoulders a little closer so she can actually grip his hand, skin to skin. The heat of it shivers up her arm, and his eyes go infinitesimally wider and darker. Zelda doesn’t break eye contact, lets it deepen into something soft and dangerous. Without looking away from her, Link snuffs the lamp, and the room falls into a tense darkness.

“Are you actually getting under the blankets this time,” she asks, her voice low and quiet enough that Link has to sway a little closer to hear her, “or are you staying on top like a self-sacrificing walnut?”

Link huffs half a laugh and she hears him scrub his free hand over his face. “A walnut?” he asks, allowing her to pull him down, answering her question by curling against her, the blankets a barrier between their bodies. She keeps hold of his hand and wraps it around her waist, insinuating her shoulder under his chin and her legs under one of his until he gets the idea and presses as closely as she can get him, which still isn’t as closely as she wants him.

“It was more polite than calling you a fuckwit,” Zelda says primly, and he laughs again, low and delighted and right next to her ear. A flush rolls over her body from head to toe, and goddesses, he’s so close and it would be so easy to turn her head and capture his mouth in this dark, secret room. It’s far too late for that, though, because she’s warm and safe and in an actual bed and sinking inexorably down into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should update the tags to include Zelda/A Good Pair Of Boots.


	6. Chapter 6

Zelda wakes to an empty bed and a fully-dressed Link in the sitting room, needle and thread in his hands as he squints at a pair of trousers. He sews with the same look of concentration he has when he fights, all his attention focused, a tiny frown line between his eyebrows. The needle moves smoothly through the fabric, in and out, in and out, for at least another minute before he senses her gaze and looks up.

“Morning,” Zelda says, absolutely shameless in being caught staring. One of Link’s cheeks dimples, and he sets down his sewing. _Morning. There’s breakfast if you want._

“Oh, I want.” A lot of things, she doesn’t add, as she climbs out of bed and pads past him to the water closet. That task completed, she drops onto the cushion next to him at the table, a steaming cup of tea waiting for her along with several sturdy slices of nut cake and dish of butter. The latter goes into her face without grace or manners, and the former she sips to wash it down. Link returns to his trouser repair and everything is so pleasant and domestic Zelda can’t handle it. She wants to tackle him, she wants to run her fingers through his hair, she wants to beg him to make sure every morning is like this for the rest of their lives. Instead she eats another slice of nut cake with butter. _Control_.

“I think we should stay in the village proper today,” Zelda says when her plate is empty, licking crumbs and butter off her fingers. (She might be licking them a little more thoroughly than strictly necessary, because of how it flusters her knight, but she’ll never admit it.) “If I get through the day with minimal naps then maybe tomorrow we can venture out a bit further.”

 _I didn’t get too far my first few days awake,_ Link admits, examining his repair job. _If you’re anything like me it’ll be a good week or two before you stop feeling winded every time you walk uphill._

“That’s the thing,” Zelda says, stacking up her dishes. “I feel perfectly physically capable. I think all my muscles are just as developed as they were when I went into the castle, it’s just using them and processing my environment takes so much mental energy I keep crashing.” The journal and calligraphy set wait for her on the table in the neat little stack she set them in last night, and she pulls them toward her with relish. “I think we should set up a series of experiments for the next few days, some physical challenges, and we’ll see how easily I can complete them and if they wipe me out afterward.”

 _I could run you through the exercises we had to do in the barracks,_ Link offers, mischief dancing in his eyes.

“I’d like that, actually.” Journal: open and in front of her to the third page (so she can go back to the first two pages and add an index later). Pens: Lined up next to the journal in orderly lines. Ink: Open and just above the pens, the placed such so she can move her hand from the inkwell to the blotter back to the page without any wasted movement. Zelda runs her hands over the smooth, blank paper with satisfaction and glances up to find Link staring at her in disbelief. “I would,” she insists. “I was fit enough from riding and hiking but that’s all lower body and core work. Father didn’t think brute exercise was appropriate for a princess, or that it was a good use of my time, so my only upper body strength comes from carrying large stacks of books around.” She folds her hands and regards him seriously. “I have a dream, Link. I have a dream of being able to do one single push-up.”

Link bites his lower lip and she tries not to stare at it. _Knees-up or knees-down?_ he asks, eyes going distant, clearly thinking about a training regimen.

“Knees-down first,” Zelda says. “Then knees-up. And then, maybe someday when I achieve levels of strength hitherto unknown by princesses, _two_ push-ups.”

 _Dream big, Princess_. Link picks up the trousers and frowns at a different worn spot. As he rifles through his sewing kit for matching thread, Zelda turns her attention to the fresh page of the journal. The pen feels so right in her hand when she picks it up, the slightly acrid smell of the ink so familiar, and she sets the nib to the paper--

“Wow,” she says, one sentence later. “My handwriting is a fucking shitshow now.”

Link leans over her shoulder to eye the scrawl. “Damn. Yeah, that’s bad.”

“Was it like this for you?” Zelda wets the nib again and moves in to write another sentence, concentrating on each stroke of the pen, slower this time. Link watches her in silence as she brute-forces her way through the process, the letters neater this time. Still a mess, though.

“I didn’t do a lot of writing right after I woke up,” he says once the pen is back in the holder and she’s frowning at the wobbly tail on her Y. “I was clumsy, though. I think it took me three tries to tie the drawstring on my pants when I got dressed the first time.”

“You were as wobbly as a kitten,” Zelda agrees. She blows out a sigh and picks up the pen again. “I think we have to assume my fine muscular control will return with time and this is just how I write now. Nothing for it but to practice.”

“I believe in you,” Link says solemnly, dropping a warm hand on her shoulder. It rests there, on the edge of where her chemise meets her skin, for a long moment where Zelda’s gut clenches and her heart pounds. Just a quarter inch to the right and his pinky would brush her collarbone…

Link snatches his hand back and returns to his mending like a man possessed. His back explains nothing when she narrows her eyes at it. Yes, he’s easily flustered, but his hand on her shoulder? That was normal enough even Before. Zelda glances down, nonplussed.

Oh. _Oh_. She can see right down the front of her chemise, and if Link was leaning over her shoulder to look at her journal, then he had an even better view. She bites her lower lip and glances over at him to confirm that, yes, she can see the tips of his ears and yes, they are _quite_ flushed. Zelda grins to herself and picks up the pen again. This shitty secondhand chemise is the best thing to ever happen. She might never sleep in anything else ever again.

Two and a half pages later, her handwriting is still awful but it flows more easily, which Zelda figures is the best she can ask for at the moment. She dresses in her new clothes, clothes that actually fit, clothes that she picked out _herself_ , and as she laces up her boots she feels more at home than she has in ages. That sense of satisfaction lasts until she tries to braid the top of her hair back and discovers she absolutely lacks the manual dexterity to do so. Link, to his credit, sees her struggling and, without a word, tugs her over to sit at the table. He kneels behind her, runs his fingers through her hair to get the feel for it, and plaits the top third into a neat queue, tied off with a strip of leather.

“It’ll come back to you,” he reassures her, twining strands around his fingers absently, like he can’t help himself. “I couldn’t manage a ponytail for at least a week, and then I had to look at my reflection in a pool of water to figure it out.”

“Thank you,” she says, reaching a hand up and back to catch one of his and interlace their fingers. “I’m trying not to be impatient but it’s very frustrating. It helps to have you here.”

“I live to serve,” Link says softly, squeezing her hand, and Zelda crushes her eyes shut against the intense wave of _want_ that rolls up inside her body. After a few careful breaths she releases his hand and pushes to her feet. “Come on. Paya promised to give me some good Grandma Impa stories today as she shows me around, and I want to see how long I can go without a nap.”

They collect Paya from Impa’s house and once Zelda sees she won’t get a coherent word out of the girl in her knight’s presence, she sends Link off to play with Cottla and/or run his own errands. Once she gets over her initial shyness, Paya proves to have a keen sense of observational humor and a gift for storytelling. Over the course of their morning ramble, Zelda learns all the gossip in the village about who is courting who, Cado’s obsession with cuccoos and his wife’s subsequent separation over it, the tragic story of Cottla and Koko’s mother, Claree’s dreams of a big-city boutique, the feud over swift carrots versus fortified pumpkins (“I feel like we could just say orange vegetables are the symbol of the village and call it a day, but no one asks me.”), and most blessedly, the name of every single Sheikah living in Kakariko. Zelda quizzes herself on their names as she and Paya sit on a fence overlooking the village, eating apples and enjoying the warmth of the sunlight.

“So Sheenah has the pale gray hair and the amber eyes, grazes goats on the grasslands to the east of the village, and she has eyes for Delini, who has dark eyes and specializes in weaving, only Sheenah never says anything about it, she just hangs around and waits for Delini to make the first move, and Delini has no idea Sheenah has feelings for her so she just thinks Sheenah likes tapestries, do I have that right?”

Paya nods, her eyes alight and playful. “And the worst thing is, everyone else can see it. They’re just absolutely clueless. Look, there they are now.”

Clear as day, a tall Sheikah woman with pale hair and practical clothes leans on a fencepost a few streets below them, presumably Sheenah. Delini’s brown skin gleams in the sun as she works her shuttles through the warp of her loom, deft fingers flying as she builds a pattern thread-by-thread. Zelda can see why Sheenah would be drawn to her, since Delini is lovely and very skilled at her craft. It’s compelling to watch someone so sure of what they’re doing.

“Oh,” Paya whispers, reaching over to grab Zelda’s forearm. “Oh, I think Sheenah might actually talk to her today.”

Sheenah does seem to be pumping herself up. It’s hard to see her face clearly from this distance, but there’s something about the set of her chin and the line of her shoulders. Is she taking some deep breaths? “Go on,” Zelda whispers, engrossed in this small drama. “You can do it!”

“This could be the day! We believe in you!” Paya’s hand clenches on Zelda’s forearm, and they both lean forward, silently rooting for Sheenah to get her shit together. Below them, Sheenah nods to herself and walks up to Delini’s loom with a bravado she’s clearly faking. Delini looks up, her hands stilling on the shuttles, and when she smiles up at Sheenah it’s genuinely breathtaking. The distance is too great for Zelda to hear anything, but Sheenah definitely says some actual words out loud, and then Delini actually responds. It’s not a long conversation, but it is a conversation, and when Sheenah turns away and Delini goes back to her weaving, they both look like they’re over the moon.

“Oh, she did it,” Paya breathes. “That useless goat farmer finally did it. It’s been a year of this and she finally exchanged actual words with Delini. What a momentous occasion.”

“I’m glad I was here to share this with you,” Zelda says solemnly. “It was a true honor.” She looks Paya in the eyes, deadpan, and shakes her hand with all the pomp of a knighting ceremony. They manage to keep straight faces for approximately another fifteen seconds, and then they giggle so hard Zelda falls off the fence and accidentally pulls Paya down with her when the Sheikah tries to catch her.

The sky above them is so blue, framed by the gray and green of the mountains that cup Kakariko in the palms of their mighty hands, and as Zelda stops laughing she runs her hands over the grass under her back and marvels, again, at being allowed to have moments like this. “Thank you,” she says quietly, groping out unseeing to squeeze Paya’s hand.

“I didn’t actually manage to catch you,” Paya points out. “I just managed not to fall on top of you. That’s hardly praiseworthy.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Zelda says, shaking her head but keeping her eyes on the sky. “I never used to get to have days like this. I didn’t have friends my own age. I didn’t get to do nothing and wander around and spy on useless goat farmers trying to flirt with useless weavers.” She turns so she can smile at Paya, knowing her eyes are wet but not caring. “This has been something I always wanted. Thank you.”

Paya looks like she doesn’t know how to respond. After a moment she squeezes Zelda’s hand and says, “Technically you still don’t have a friend your own age.” Paya grins, her eyes glinting. “I’m a hundred years younger than you.”

“Don’t sass me, grandchild,” Zelda retorts in her best Impa impression. Paya makes a face at her and they go back to staring at the sky together, watching birds circle on the updrafts high above. It’s peaceful and lovely, up until Zelda’s stomach audibly growls, startling an impressively unladylike snort out of Paya.

“Yeah,” Zelda says, levering herself upright. “It does that now. Let’s go find out what Link made for lunch.”

Link, it turns out, did not make anything for lunch, because Cottla’s older sister Koko insisted on doing the cooking. The soup is delicious, and Zelda tells her so, mostly because it’s delightful to watch the girl practically burst with pride. The inevitable fatigue-nap comes on after she eats, which Paya points out does absolutely nothing to challenge Zelda’s grandma status, so Zelda threatens to ground her in retaliation before she staggers back off to the inn. Her nap only lasts for maybe an hour and a half, after which Link leads her out to the empty clearing near Kakariko’s graveyard to make good on his promise of teaching her the barracks exercise routines.

“I take it back,” she tells the ground from where she’s lying face-down on it. “I don’t want to do a push-up. I want to never try to do a push-up ever again.”

“You’re trying to go deeper than your arms can support,” Link says from above her in an entirely too reasonable tone of voice. “That’s why you keep collapsing. Come on, Princess, get up and do it right this time.”

“I hate you,” she says without passion, struggling back to all fours.

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Link responds in the same reasonable tone. “Plank.”

Zelda tries. Her abdominals start shaking immediately, even with her knees on the ground.

“Lower hips.”

Zelda lowers her hips. She thinks she’s about to die.

“Engage here.” Link bends down and taps her stomach just under her ribs with one finger, and she clenches away from it with an audible grimace.

“Stronger shoulders.”

“Hngh,” Zelda says as she pushes higher through her shoulders while still trying to keep everything else tight. This is worse than the Calamity. She’s going to dismiss Link from her service and send him away again. She’s going to feed him to a molduga in revenge.

“Now, keep your elbows in at your sides as you bend your arms. Lower slowly. When you feel yourself about to collapse, stop and push back up. I want to see one straight line from your hips to your shoulders all the way down and all the way back up. If you turn into a cooked noodle we’re starting again from the beginning.” He sounds like he’s enjoying this, the little fucker. Fine. _Fine_. Zelda sucks in a breath and bends her arms, her face contorted with the effort of lowering herself without collapsing. Engage the abs, clench the butt, strong shoulders, fuck this fuck this _fuck this_ \--

“Keep breathing,” Link says cheerfully, and Zelda hisses out her rage between her teeth and pushes herself back up the six fucking inches she was able to lower down with proper bodily control. Sweat drips from her nose onto the dirt as she successfully completes a single, pathetic, shitty push-up, and she rocks back onto her knees and pants. “Well?” she demands, glaring daggers at Link as he rests comfortably on a stump with a waterskin.

 _That was excellent,_ he signs, so serious and sincere it startles her. _Seriously, that was perfect form. I know it maybe doesn’t feel like a great accomplishment, but it’s so much more important to do these with good technique so you develop the muscles and skills concurrently then it is to cheat through something that looks more impressive but teaches bad habits._ He looks so proud that she flushes and looks away, still not used to praise for any of her actions. She’d do just about anything he asked if it meant if he’d look at her like that again.

“Now do seven more just like that.” His grin is absolutely evil and Zelda immediately finds the thing she _wouldn’t_ do to earn that look. How dare he.

“Fuck you,” Zelda snaps, climbing back out to the plank position. She’ll fucking well show him., the smug little asshole with the obnoxiously strong shoulders, probably can do push-ups in his fucking sleep. This internal, cursed-filled diatribe carries her through the horrible push-ups, and then the squats, and then the part where she hangs from a tree and fails to make any progress at all on a pull-up, and then the series of core exercises because apparently the push-ups weren’t bad enough, and then the twisting thing that Link says is to work on her “side abs” and listen, she’s researched enough anatomy to know the oblique muscles exist, but she’s never had to think about them in any way outside the theoretical before in her hundred and seventeen (eighteen? Ish?) year lifetime and she resents having to think about them now.

“You did really well,” Link tells her as she sips from the waterskin. He’s making her do something called “cooling down” now, which unfortunately doesn’t mean jumping into the nearest body of water, and instead means walking around and swinging her arms while her heart rate lowers. “A lot of new recruits have pushed themselves too hard and puked by this point.”

“New recruits can probably do more than eight shitty push-ups,” Zelda points out before she takes another pull from the waterskin. She’s giving serious thought to taking off the outer tunic, but she’s likely sweated through her undershirt and doesn’t really want her knight to see her with giant stains under her armpits.

 _That’s true, but it doesn’t mean they can do them_ **_well_** _._ Link claps her on the shoulder and takes the waterskin away. _Now, for your reward, you get to stretch._

“This is going to be terrible, isn’t it?” Zelda asks as she mirrors his posture.

 _Oh yeah,_ he replies immediately. _But it’s good for you._

The flexibility exercises Link teaches her are the most beautiful agony Zelda has ever experienced, and that includes the time she had to wear heeled shoes for the entire six hours of a royal ball and then took them off at the end of the night and nearly passed out from the relief. He talks her through a series of positions that target every muscle they just worked, like he’s memorized an anatomy textbook and applied it to his training. Every once in a while he kneels behind her so he can tap under her shoulder blade or push just so on a part of her back or pull _right here_ on her arm, and every time it deepens the stretch in such a way that she nearly catapults herself into a goddess trace because of how it unlocks the tension. When they’re done she’s fully blissed out from the experience and sways a little when he pulls her up to standing.

“Whoa, there,” he says, catching her by the elbows. “Do you need to sleep again?”

“No,” she says, a little drunkenly, regaining her bearings. “That was just much more relaxing than I was expecting. I’ve read about the effect exercise can have on mood but honestly I thought the writers were making it up.”

Link grins at her. “Of course you’ve read about it,” he says with such soft fondness it stops her heart for a beat. “It’s true that working out doesn’t always result in a mood lift,” he continues as they head back into town side-by-side, so close their hands brush occasionally. “It helps to figure out what kind of exercise works for you and in what levels.”

“Mmm,” Zelda says, thinking about how best to set up an experiment to find those results.

“And overtraining is a thing, too, so it’s important to have rest days and alternate your routine.” Link leans over and nudges his shoulder into hers, and it’s so different from the reserved, closed-off knight she used to know that it makes her ache and bloom simultaneously, right up until he adds, “That’s why tomorrow we'll start on cardio and endurance work.”

“I’m going to banish you.” She keeps an eye on him while keeping her face straight ahead, wanting to make sure he knows it’s a joke and not an actual threat.

“No, you won’t.” Link’s voice is sure and steady. “I cook and I carry all the stuff. I’m indispensable.”

“I suppose,” Zelda allows grudgingly, hiding her smile. “And that thing you did to my low back? It’s worth keeping you around just for that.” She fixes him with an imperious stare. “If you really want to make it up to me, thought, you’ll do pumpkin risotto for dinner tonight.”

“I live to serve, Princess.”

“And stop calling me Princess.”

“Of course, Princess.”

Zelda shoves him and starts her cardio training early by sprinting back to the village while he staggers. Well, she _tries_ , but the squats really had an effect and she gets about five steps before she goes so wobbly she has to bend over and brace her hands on her thighs while she pants.

“I’m going to be really sore tomorrow, aren’t I?” she asks as Link catches up with her at the same relaxed walking pace. “Yep,” he says, popping the P and strolling past her down the path. He doesn’t see the rude gesture she makes at his back, but she hopes he feels it deep in his soul.

True to his word, he makes pumpkin risotto for dinner and they sneak their bowls around the back of Impa’s house to eat on the deck, the waterfalls gleaming golden in the early sunset light. Impa comes out to join them, and Zelda cleans her bowl of every last grain of rice and leans her head on her mentor’s shoulder. None of them feel compelled to break the silence, although at a sharp look from Impa Link disappears and returns with a full bowl of risotto for the old woman. He settles back down next to Zelda, close enough that she can feel the heat from his legs, and for maybe the first time since her mother died Zelda feels like she has a family. It seems like a betrayal of her father to admit that, somehow, but nothing can change the past and the creeping, duty-bound formality that built up between them, an impassable tangle of thorns and brambles keeping them apart. She won’t let that happen again, she vows, and she wraps her arm around Impa and fumbles out to take Link’s hand with a wild surge of protectiveness. _Mine,_ she thinks, so fiercely she wonders if they can hear it, and presses her face into Impa’s shoulder.

After dinner Zelda sets about achieving one of her most coveted goals: a long soak in the Kakariko bathhouse. This, too, is familiar and different, the layout unchanged but the murals repainted sometime in the last century. At some point she thinks she’s going to try and talk Link into the public, all-gender bath, because she wants to see how hard he blushes if she’s only wearing a wet towel. That’s a task for another day, though. For today she throws some of Link’s rupees on the counter and books one of the private bathing rooms, practically dancing with anticipation as she changes into the provided robe and slippers. The Kakariko bathhouse has always been one of her favorite stops, even back when the binding ribbons of protocol required that the entire place be cleared out before she was allowed to _walk down a hallway_ and _step into a bathing room_. Not now, though. Now she pays money like a normal person, receives a key, and tiptoes her way through the space, mineral steam from the hot springs swirling into her short hair and bringing it out in waves. It won’t take three hours for her hair to dry if she washes it, she realizes as she unlocks the sturdy wooden door and steps into the private room. Hmm, she’s going to have to time it and find out how much of her life she’ll get back now that she doesn’t have to deal with all that useless blonde dead weight she used to carry. The giddy joy of that bubbles up through her like the water pouring into the cedar tub in the room, and she does a little twirl to let the energy out.

It turns out she doesn’t have the physical capacity for twirling just yet, and she stumbles into the door, catching herself before she can fall down with a loud crash that would probably have every person in the building checking in on her safety. That’s an outcome she absolutely does not want, so she straightens, locks the door, and settles her towels and key on the bench in a neat pile before she sits down. Zelda shuts her eyes and breathes deeply, in and out, centering herself, focusing on the sensations of her body and letting the outside world fall away. She’s definitely going to be sore tomorrow, both from the days of travel and from Link’s training, and that makes her think of Link, and his hands on her body, so sure and steady as he guided her through the stretches, of his ungloved hands carding through her hair, of the smell and feel of him curled against her at night. If pressed she would never admit the real reason she booked a private bathing room, with a heavy locking door and a whole building to provide distance between herself and her knight, but her body knows _exactly_ why she’s here. Zelda doesn’t even bother taking off the robe as she slides a hand between her legs to where she’s hot and swollen and aching. The first brush of her fingers against her clit forces her into a full-body shudder, and Zelda bites her lip and tips her head back against the wall.

It’s always seemed inappropriate to Zelda to fantasize about actual people in these moments--when she was younger she created a sort of mental archive of generic potential partners, based on the lurid novels she filched from Urbosa’s shelf while they both pretended Urbosa didn’t know exactly what was happening and hadn’t purposefully stocked those shelves with a variety of educational and entertaining reading materials. In spite of her best efforts, though, the Man With A Dark And Mysterious Past ended up with choppy, shoulder length hair that shone gold in sunlight. The Kind And Goodhearted Stable Boy ended up with blue eyes and a private smile that only fantasy-Zelda ever saw. The Noble Prince From A Distant Land ended up in Champion blue with a sword on his back. Link, Link, Link, they all inevitably turned into Link, and even before she faced the Calamity she’d given up the pretense that she dreamed about anyone else. Behind her eyelids she sees herself the night before, on her back with Link curled into her side, only this time they’re both under the blankets, her chemise the only barrier between his hands and her skin. In this version of events she turns her head and captures his mouth, his hand tensing on her waist in surprise but his lips soft under hers. She feels him shiver, feels his self-control waver and break when she opens her mouth and traces her tongue across his bottom lip. Link would gasp against her mouth and she’d swallow the sound down, she decides, and she’d turn further toward him and run her hand up his arm and into his hair, pinning him helplessly where she wants him as she deepens the kiss. (In the real world her hand works faster between her legs, Goddesses above she’s been wet for days from wanting him.) That makes him whimper and roll closer, half on top of her, and she fists her hand in his hair and drags his mouth to her neck. Zelda shudders and arches under him as he presses hot kisses under her ear, down the tendon to her collarbone, and she works her other arm out from under him so she can switch her grip. With her newly freed hand she grabs his and slides it up her body to cup her breast, the fabric of her chemise doing nothing to dampen the heat of his fingers.

“Zelda,” he whispers against her neck, so brokenly she almost thinks he can feel what she feels, the golden lighting power crackling through her spine as he circles her nipple with his thumb. (It’s her own hand on her own breast, pinching and teasing over the robe, and Zelda exhales a moan silently out through her nose, her legs shaking, her abdomen tensing up.) He bites her neck, thumb still circling and circling, and she can feel him trembling where his body presses to hers, the hardness in his groin against her hip. It’s perfect and beautiful and _not enough_ , and her hand is still on his wrist so she yanks it down her body, tossing her free leg open so she can put him where she’s most desperate for him.

“Please,” she begs, and Link makes a sound like it’s been punched out of him, snatching her chemise and yanking it up, out of the way. In this fantasy she wasn’t wearing underthings, and when his hand comes down she’s completely bared to his touch. “ _Zelda_ ,” he says again, on a groan, his fingers sliding through her slickness, his touch sure and deliberate as he works her over. She fists her hands, one in the bedsheets, the other in his hair, and ruts up against his touch, chasing the lightning-feeling building in her gut and chest.

“Don’t stop,” she orders, and Link groans against her skin and bites her neck again, shifting his hand so he can slide two fingers into her (she slides two fingers into herself) and press the heel of his hand against her clit (she presses the heel of her hand against her clit). Their pace is frantic now, their moans mingling in the air, and Link pants like he’s the one on the verge of coming, his hot breath washing over her neck and the desperate little sounds he’s making ringing in her ears. “Oh,” she says, clenching hard around his fingers (her fingers), her body locking up, breathing tiny shallow little sips of air. “Oh, I’m--”

Zelda comes explosively, a burst of golden, sparkling light catapulting her out of her body and into something like being Hylia again, only instead of being full of a calm, warm, all-encompassing love, she’s wracked with pleasure, pulsing and gasping and helpless to resist or direct it. From very, very far away, she’s aware that her hand’s still working, that her hips are still driving against her touch to draw out her orgasm, and each movement sends more sparkling golden ripples through her until it all becomes too much and she crashes back into her body, panting and spent and her inner muscles still occasionally clenching around her fingers. There’s no tension left in her frame, and she slouches back against the wall, catching her breath, robe-half open and her face damp with sweat. Good graceful goddesses, she needed that. She’s going to sleep _so well_ tonight.

Once her heart stops racing, Zelda removes her sticky hand from between her legs and _actually_ disrobes. She scrubs up at the spigot, reveling in the sensations as she fills the bamboo basin with hot water and pours it over her skin to rinse the suds off. When she said hot water was the best gift the gods ever sent them, she meant it, and Zelda sinks into the cedar tub overflowing with hot spring water and breathes out a prayer of thanks. When she starts to doze off she reluctantly climbs out, shuffling languidly back to the changing area and re-dressing with hands clumsy from relaxation instead of disuse. She doesn’t remember the trip back to the inn, or cleaning her teeth, but she must have done both because her mouth tastes fresh and she’s standing in the doorway to the bedroom. Link’s on top of the blankets, his back to the headboard, the lamp on the table rimming him in gold and shadow. He looks up from the sock he’s darning, his eyes a flicker of blue, and smiles. _Good soak?_ he asks, setting the mending aside.

“The best,” she confirms, confident her flushed cheeks read only as a result of the hot water, not from any illicit activities she’d never admit to carrying out. As she crosses to the bed he pulls back the blankets on her side, tucking them around her shoulders with gentle motions when she lies down. Link leans away from her to extinguish the lamp and she takes the opportunity to worm her arms out from under the covers. There’s a moment of distraction as darkness falls, and Zelda slips her left arm around Link’s shoulders and pulls him in against her before he can struggle. It’s a successful gambit, and Link ends up on his side, his head pillowed on her shoulder, her hand stroking back and forth along his back. He tenses against her, stone in the night, and asks, “Princess?”

“Is this okay?” she asks, her hand stilling, internally begging him to stay where he is. The tension bleeds out of him, bit by bit, and he allows his head to fall properly against her shoulder and gently drapes his arm over her waist. “Yeah,” he says, so quiet she can barely hear him. “It is.”

“Good,” she says, and it’s the last thing either of them says until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by my love of useless lesbians and my never-ending quest to do A Single Push-Up.
> 
> Also, just because it needs saying, BLACK LIVES MATTER! If you're in America, this is a great resource for finding ways to support the movement! https://2020protests.com/index.html
> 
> Zelda would absolutely punch a cop and Link would absolutely cheer her on.


	7. Chapter 7

When Zelda wakes the next morning, she knows before she opens her eyes that the bed will be empty and Link will have breakfast waiting for her. It’s funny how quickly something can become a routine, she reflects as she takes care of her morning necessities and settles next to him at the table. Today it’s bread and soft goat cheese and jam, and she eats with such a single-minded intensity that it isn’t until after half the loaf is gone and she’s pouring herself a second cup of tea that she notices--

“My Sheikah slate!” she gasps, leaning over his shoulder to peer at it. It looks just like she remembers, no worse for wear after its hundred years in a cave and year or so at Link’s hip.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask for it back,” Link says, tapping the screen and... magnifying it? Is that a map of Hyrule? The slate can _do_ that? He looks at the map for a moment and writes a note on the paper in front of him. Zelda itches to get her hands on the slate again, and she fights the urge to snatch it off the table and explore its capabilities.

“My time as Hylia must have scrambled my brain more than I thought,” she says, sitting down and sipping her tea and not betraying how she’s basically vibrating with her desire to paw at the slate. “I forgot it even existed until just now.”

“I’ll take you out of town so you can play with it later,” Link says absently, moving the map around on the slate with his fingertips??? and adding another note to his list. He glances up at her, pride in his eyes. “You were right, you know. The slate was the key to unlocking the shrines, and the towers. Purah figured some things out while we were…” A pause, while he bites his lower lip and comes up with a delicate way to phrase it. “Otherwise busy.” Light flashes from his teeth as he grins at her, wicked and lopsided. “It makes bombs now.”

Oh, sweet Hylia. “And how many problems did you solve via the application of said bombs?” Zelda asks, arching one eyebrow as she sets up her journal and pens, because she knows him, and she’s pretty sure she knows the answer.

The grin on his face grows wider. “All of them.”

Yep. That’s her Link, all right. Zelda suppresses a smile and picks up a pen.

Later, in the midmorning, Zelda huffs her way up the path outside of town and into the mountains, Link cheerfully reminding her that, “We said we’d do cardio and endurance today, and this counts.” He’s an absolute monster, but a crafty one, since he makes sure he’s just out of reach when he taunts her so she can’t retaliate. Spite carries her up the incline and around the corner, replaced by wonder in a harsh rush because _a shrine!_ Not cold and dead and dark, the way she remembers them, but glowing blue with a gentle pulse, as though it’s alive. Zelda drops to her knees next to the platform and presses her hands against the stone, warmed not from the sun but from the energy inside the structure.

“Oh,” she says, running her fingers over the carvings. “Oh, Link, it’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it is,” he says, and when she looks up at him his face is so indescribably fond she flushes. He doesn’t look away, not this time, as he takes her hand and tugs her to her feet. “Do you want to go inside?”

“ _Please_ ,” Zelda blurts, realizing that she needs to go buy another, smaller journal and a travel pen to keep in her pocket. She wants to document every single thing about every single shrine. To her mild surprise, Link doesn’t release her hand, keeping gentle hold of it as he pulls her after him onto the platform and explains how the slate reacted with the pedestal to activate the ancient technology. She follows him onto a glowing circle in the cave-like interior, eyes roaming every inch of the stone. Zelda’s about to drop to a knee to examine the lighted rune beneath their feet when _the floor fucking moves_. She jolts and stumbles into Link, who wraps his free arm around her waist to keep her upright.

“Sorry,” he says as they _descend straight down into the ground_ , “I forget what it was like my first time going in.” His arm relaxes but his hand stays on her waist, her other hand still caught in his, steady and reliable and always there when she reaches for him, and she’ll have more time to feel the feelings she has about that later because right now she’s in the middle of the greatest research breakthrough of her life, which is only raising more questions.

“Where are we going? How does it work? Is this floating? Is it a clockwork mechanism?” Zelda twists to try and look down, past the edge of the platform, but all she sees is a column of blue light and, beyond that, darkness. “Is it like this in every shrine? Is there a way to stop the descent and reverse it before you reach the bottom? Can you--” The next question dies on her tongue as they exit the dark shaft and into a… _cavern,_ is the only word that comes to mind to describe it, though it’s clearly constructed and not natural. The room is large, far larger than she would have thought possible from the outside, the walls and floors covered in carvings. She gapes, wide-eyed, as the platform beneath their feet comes to a halt, and takes two wondering steps away from Link before she reaches the limit of their combined arm span.

“It’s amazing,” she says, desperate to keep exploring but reluctant to drop his hand. “Are they all like this?”

“No,” Link says, following her off the platform. “Well, sort of.” He shifts her grip to his elbow and signs, _They all have the same basic elements, like the carvings? Most of the others have challenges. This one is… safe._ He takes her through the space, explaining the Guardian he fought, apparently immune to the Calamity’s influence and programmed for combat training. He leads her to the dais that once held a Sheikah monk from eons before, and tells her about the spirit orbs that were his reward for facing the shrines. Zelda has… a lot of questions, which Link does his best to answer, though after about the thirty-seventh one he finally grabs her shoulders and gives her a little shake, laughing as he says, “Princess, please! I didn’t take notes! Have mercy.”

“Why didn’t you take notes?” Zelda says, mock-scolding. “It would have saved us a lot of time.”

 _Keep yelling at me about it and I won’t show you what the slate can do now,_ Link threatens. Zelda snaps her mouth shut and looks around. “In here?”

 _It’s safe,_ he repeats, leading her back out to the middle of the floor. _We don’t have to worry about alarming the village or damaging anything._

“With the bombs?” she clarifies.

 _With the bombs_ , Link agrees solemnly. _And… Ah… Make sure you’re far enough away when you detonate them._

“Link,” Zelda asks, stern. “How many times have you blown yourself up?”

His eyes go to the ceiling, and then to the floor, and then to the walls. _I… may have lost count,_ he admits sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“ _Link_ ,” Zelda says again. “Do you recall a conversation we had once about your recklessness?”

 _Listen, sometimes a bunch of Moblins are shooting at you and you’re in a hurry so you drop a bomb and rely on the fact that you’re hard to kill and have a lot of tonics in your bag,_ Link tells her, the gestures quick, his face defensive. _That’s not reckless, it’s strategy._

“Is it _good_ strategy, Link?” Zelda stares him down, and Link stares right back, unblinking. He’s stoic but she was a princess, raised for politics, and she raises the single eyebrow that once made a visiting minister apologize to her father about a trade agreement. The eyebrow does the trick, and Link breaks first, ears going pink as he looks away. _Do you want to learn how to make bombs or not?_ he asks, and Zelda drops the subject as he hands her the slate.

Zelda learns how to make bombs, which is more fun than she wants to admit. Magnesis is just as delightful, which she discovers while whipping one of Link’s shields through the air and giggling. Stasis both fascinates and enrages her. “This shouldn’t be possible!” she insists, shoving at the suspended palm fruit as it absolutely refuses to move. “This is breaking every natural law I know! What the _fuck_ , Link?”

 _Don’t look at me,_ Link tells her, backing away from her furious glare. _You’re supposed to be the smart one, I just hit things!_

“Fine,” she says, leaving the infuriating questions of Stasis behind as she moves on to the next rune. “What does Cryonis do? Is it easier to explain?”

The answer is yes, although they have to leave the shrine and walk further up the hill to a pond before she can experiment with it. Raising blocks of ice out of a body of water is more scientifically explicable than _fucking Stasis_ , but then Link stands on one as solidly as though it’s a pillar going all the way to the bottom of the pond, when she can _clearly_ see it’s floating on the top, and she has to sit down for a moment because of how many questions that brings up. There’s even a second shrine right behind her but she doesn’t care because what? How?

 _I can summon them horizontally out of a waterfall, too,_ he signs helpfully, crouching on top of the ice pillar like it’s not _completely_ impossible. _They stay in place and I can use them as climbing platforms._

“That is absolutely unacceptable,” she says weakly, rubbing her temples. “There is no part of any of this that should work. How is it _possible_ , Link?”

Link shrugs and jumps down off the ice pillar, landing so lightly he hardly makes a sound. _I slept for a hundred years when I should have died. You fought the embodiment of chaos and evil for a hundred years as some kind of magic ghost and now you have a body again. I don’t think either of us have a leg to stand on in the impossibility argument._

Zelda shuts her mouth on another question and stares into the middle distance. “That’s a good point,” she concedes, running her fingers around the edges of the slate absently. “Is there anything else this thing can do that I should know about?”

Link’s grin is a wild thing. _This one saved me so much time, I can’t even begin to tell you. Stay here._ He slips the slate out of her unresisting hands and jogs across the bridge and down the path, turning to face her when he’s nearly out of sight behind the trees. With a few movements of his fingers he does something with the slate and then _fucking disappears in a cloud of blue light_.

“Link?” Zelda yelps, scrambling to her feet and searching around frantically, her guts knotted up with worry like a badly stored skein of embroidery floss. _How?_ Where did he go? A weird sort of hum makes her whirl toward the shrine behind her in time to see a second cloud of blue swirling lights coalesce into her knight, completely unharmed and looking far too smug. The smug look disappears as she tackles him into a hug, heart racing with panic.

“Don’t--fucking--you _scared_ me--” she spits into his shoulder, arms so tight around him her bones practically creak. Zelda’s trembling, some rational part of her realizes, she’s shivering like she’s freezing even in the midday sunlight. _It’s fine, it’s fine, he’s safe, he’s here_ , she tells herself, breathing in the salt and leather smell of his skin.

“Hey,” he says, one arm around her lower back, the other hand stroking her hair. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry, shh, I didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice rumbles against her chest where they’re pressed together, and Link carefully pulls her down to sit, her legs across his lap, his hand still moving over her hair. Hylia save her, Zelda is tired of these outsized emotional reactions, but all her logic does nothing for her now. She breathes and she feels Link breathe and she waits to calm down, her tension leeching slowly away into the warmth of his body, solid and here and alive.

“The next time you intend to disappear using ancient technology we don’t fully understand,” she says into his collar, voice not quite as steady as she’d like it to be, “please do me the favor of warning me first.”

“Sorry,” he says again, his hand cupping the back of her skull, fingers spread wide. “I thought you’d know about it, somehow.” That gives her pause, and she sifts through her memories of the eleven months since he woke up. She didn’t watch him every moment, both out of respect for his privacy and because she wasn’t capable of doing that _and_ keeping the Calamity at bay at the same time, but he was always there at the edges of her awareness…

“Oh,” Zelda breathes, pulling away so she can look him in the face. “That’s what was happening, when I could feel you everywhere and nowhere at once! I was so confused the first time it happened.” A beat, while she considers. “So, not a lot has changed, really.”

Link laughs, ruefully. “Honestly, it surprised the hell out of me the first time I did it. It feels _weird._ ” His hand strokes down from her hair to rest between her shoulder blades and he tips his head a bit, mischief in his eyes. “You want to try?”

“Yes,” Zelda says immediately, and the smile hovering at the corners of Link’s mouth stretches out across his gilded face. He doesn’t move his arms, though, and Zelda has to gently push against his grip before he realizes the issue. The resulting flush on his cheeks is really quite wonderful, and she tries not to blush too much as they extricate themselves from the embrace.

 _You tap the shrine you want to visit and then confirm you want to travel there_ , Link explains as he leads her back over the bridge. _Keep hold of the slate. It’s… disorienting, so be prepared for that._

“I’ll do my best not to collapse,” Zelda promises as she crosses the bridge. Link stays by the shrine platform, watching silently as she tries to decide how far away she wants to be for this experiment. It seems a waste to attempt to travel ten feet, but she has the (unsupported) idea that the shorter the trip, the less draining she’ll find it. Thirty yards seems like a good number, so she steadies the slate, double-checks the shrine location, and taps the surface as instructed.

Zelda--

_Shatters like a crystal glass dropped onto stone._

_Explodes like a bomb arrow striking a target._

_Dissolves into nothingness like tissue paper in water._

She feels--

Nothingeverythingwarmbright _movement_

Is she Hylia again? Is this what Hylia felt like? Why can’t she _understand_ these sensations--

Light. Bright light, that she squints her physical, Hylian eyes at, and stone under her feet, and air in her lungs, and Zelda keeps a white-knuckled grasp on the slate as she sucks in a shuddering breath, trying to keep her knees from buckling. Familiar hands catch her elbows, and she leans her weight into Link and blinks furiously. She feels fine, physically, not ill or injured, but the fatigue suddenly rolls across her like she’s leapt into a pond.

“Princess?” Link asks, concerned, and she pats his shoulder weakly. “I’m all right,” she says, “but I think I need to lie down.”

“Here?” He’s already leading her off the platform and into the shade of the trees, one arm around her back, the other hand still steady on her elbow. Goddesses, this boy. She doesn’t deserve him, frankly.

“It’s hardly the first time I’ve napped in a forest, Link,” she points out as he helps her settle on the grass. “Sir Bed is all the way down in the village because you haven’t given him wheels yet.”

“That was my job?” he asks from somewhere behind her, his grasp on her shoulders lowering her gently down until her head is on something hard and warm and soft all at once. She squints blearily at her new pillow and eventually figures out it’s his thigh. Huh. Nice.

“Of course it’s your job,” she mutters, her eyes slipping closed. “I don’t know how to make fucking wheels.”

Then she promptly falls asleep.

\---

It feels like very little time has passed when she wakes, and when Zelda opens an eye to squint blearily up at the sky, the sun hasn’t moved much. That’s heartening, that her naps are getting shorter. Hopefully it’s a good sign for her recovery. Is there something in her hands? She pats at the thing and figures out it’s the Sheikah slate, clutched protectively to her chest. Nice to know she hasn’t lost it.

Link’s fingers card through her hair, gentle and slow, like he’s been doing it for a while now, and she shuts her eyes, shivers, and curls her head into the touch, his thigh still warm under her cheek. “How long was I out?” she asks, and he freezes, muscles tensing, fingers stilling, and she curses herself for speaking. Experimentally, she presses her head into his hand again, a silent request, and hears him exhale above her. The muscle under her cheek relaxes and his fingers resume their movement. “Maybe twenty minutes. Was it the teleportation?”

“I think so.” Oh, he’s scritching at the base of her skull now and the feeling rolls down her spine like hot water from a basin. Zelda struggles to focus on her words as she tries to explain. “It wasn’t the physical, exactly... I mean, I didn’t feel ill, other than a bit dizzy. It’s more like…” She sets the slate aside and rolls over onto her back so she can look up at him, gold and blue framed against the green and brown of the trees. “I’ve read,” she says slowly, “in medical texts, about people recovering from brainstorms, and how they can re-learn how to use the affected side of their body? One of the consistent symptoms is fatigue, especially when they’ve had a breakthrough in their recovery. The brain figures out how to do something, which takes energy, and then it has to regain its energy. This wasn’t a brainstorm, but I’m beginning to think it’s something akin to it.”

Link nods, his hands free now that she’s cut off access to the nape of her neck. _That makes sense. I think you’re doing better than I did those first few days. I was pretty wrecked mentally and physically._

“What was it like?” The question is out before she can stop it, and Zelda knows there’s not going to be a good answer. She bites her tongue and waits in agonizing silence for what feels like a year before Link’s hands move again to sign a single word.

_Lonely._

And then he shrugs, like he’s used to it or something, and her heart breaks. Zelda wants to say something magical that will make it better and there’s nothing to say, so she fumbles a hand up to grasp one of his and squeezes it, as hard as she can, trying to put her unspoken words into the contact. Link squeezes back, just on the edge of too hard, and she thinks maybe there are things he doesn’t know how to say, either.

“Do you want to see the inside of the shrine?” he asks eventually, tipping his head at their teleportation destination. Of course she does, so she sits up and rolls out her neck. Her hair feels different, somehow, and when Zelda reaches up to pat it her fingertips brush over… flowers? She investigates with delicate touches, confirming the flowers and discovering the presence of braids, as well. With one hand still on the crown of her head, she turns to Link, eyebrows climbing her forehead.

 _You wouldn’t let go of the slate,_ he signs quickly before she can even ask the question on her lips, _and I didn’t have any mending with me, and I like to have something to do with my hands._ Link’s face gets redder and redder as he explains, his hands moving faster, more frantically. _I didn’t think--it seemed like--I just--_

Zelda grabs his hands in hers, stilling his panicked signing. “How does it look?” she asks, grinning, and he exhales in relief, his shoulders dropping. “Good,” he says. “Here, I’ll--” Link tugs away from her grasp and picks up the slate, tapping at it with practiced motions. He points it at her. “Smile!”

Zelda does, and the slate makes a clicking sound, and Link turns it around to show her the picture. She takes it from him with trembling hands, something melting deep in her soul, because… She knows what she looks like. She’s seen herself in mirrors, and paintings, and court sketches, and a very long time ago, in pictures on this very slate. The short hair is different, of course, but that’s not the change making parts of her open up like a flower in the sun.

The girl in the picture looks _happy_. Her cheeks are flushed and her smile is so bright it almost hurts to look at it. The flowers in her hair are a crown of wilderness, woven into the braids, the green of the stems and leaves making the green of her eyes even more bright. More than the color, though, her eyes look open, with no shield of protocol and self-control. Zelda thinks she could see into her own soul somehow, her princessly mask gone, leaving the _person_ in its wake. Is this what Link sees when he looks at her? She glances up from the slate and from the look on his face, so warm and soft and kind and wondering, the answer is yes.

“It does look good,” she manages, amazed at the steadiness in her voice. “Please feel free to braid flowers into my hair whenever the mood strikes you.”

“I live to serve, Princess,” Link says, barely audible, and sets a hand lightly on her lower back to guide her into the shrine. He tells her about the platform, and the Sheikah artifact required to activate it, and the tragic story of Dorian’s wife and the Yiga blackmail. He waits indulgently while she explores the interior (“Why is there water, Link, and how is it this fresh and clean?”) and when they’re done he takes her down the hill and up another path to meet the great fairy Cotera, an absolute vision in jewels and not much else. Cotera flirts with Link absolutely outrageously, and then before Zelda has a chance to consider getting jealous, flirts with Zelda _just_ as outrageously. When Zelda shares a glance with Link it’s to find they sport matching blushes, and when she asks him a question with her eyebrows he does a thing with his mouth that says, yes, all the great fairies are like this. They eat lunch there, sitting on the living platform at the edge of the fountain, Zelda deep in conversation with Cotera about the lifespan of the great fairies and Hyrule’s history. (Cotera doesn’t _need_ to eat-- “The magic of the fountain is what keeps me in such excellent condition, my sweet girl!” --but apparently she _can_ , and she delicately pinches the mushroom rice balls Link brought with them between her giant fingers and eats them like candies from a dish.) Cotera apparently hasn’t paid much attention to Hylian politics over the years, but she has a great memory for fashion, and within about ten minutes Zelda has promised to return with paper and graphite so the fairy can make some sketches. Knowing what the ancient Sheikah wore isn’t the same thing as being able to easily translate their language, but it’s still historical knowledge and she wants to hoard as much of that as she can. Link eventually interrupts their conversation to point out the cloud bank moving in, promising rain, and they hurry back down to the village before the heavens open.

The next couple of days pass in this new sort of routine, free of outside structures. Stronger every day (if sore as blazes from Link’s training regimen), Zelda wanders the village and mountains, challenging herself to go just a bit further, do just a bit more each time. She naps in the afternoons, but those become shorter as well, the fatigue easier to manage. Link shares her bed each night without complaint or question and is gone from it when she wakes, and she doesn’t push him about why. (She _does_ book private baths to work out her tension, hand between her legs and lower lip caught between her teeth, since this heightened libido shows no signs of calming down.)

The package of items from the general store waits on their table, gently mocking her for only having dug out the hairbrush, and she finally unpacks it one afternoon, since she doesn’t actually know what’s _in_ it. There are some ribbons for her hair, a sewing kit, moisturizing oil for her skin, salve for her lips, the kinds of things she always would have had in her bag Before, and she feels silly for having ignored the little bundle for so long. The next thing she pulls out is a folded paper envelope full of embroidery floss, little skeins in bright jewel tones. Link looks up from the pot of tea he’s prepared at her confused hmm, and she waves the envelope at him.

“Oh,” he sets, putting down the pot. _I asked Trissa to add that for you. When I saw it I remembered…_ He pauses, eyes going distant, clearly searching through the depths of his mind. _You were embroidering by the fire once, and I asked about it, and you said having something to do with your hands helped you think, and embroidery was perfect because you knew it well enough you could almost do it in your sleep._

Zelda remembers that night--she’d been at the lab with Purah all day, working on a new translation, and her mind was still whirring after dinner, the answer just barely eluding her. She remembers the embroidery, too, a lush botanical of some of her favorite herbs and flowers. The paper crinkles in her hands as she curls her fingers around the thread protectively. “Thank you,” she says, setting the envelope aside with care, and Link ducks his head to cover a smile as he pours the hot water.

The next revelation the package has for her is less pleasant, though it has the potential to be more urgent: Trissa was thoughtful enough to tuck in a drawstring bag full of menstrual supplies. “Fuck,” Zelda says out loud, staring blankly at nothing as she wracks her brains without an answer.

“Hm?” Link says, pouring her a cup of barley tea. “Did I get the wrong colors?”

“No, the floss is perfect, thank you,” Zelda says automatically, taking the cup of tea on muscle memory alone. She’s too distracted by her racing thoughts to bother being subtle when she continues, “I just can’t remember the last time I bled.”

Link goes perfectly silent and still, like a predator. “Bled?” he asks, a dangerous note in his voice, all his attention on her. It’s enough to nudge her out of her own head, and she blinks at him. He looks like he’s about to kill something, and she replays her own words and it clicks.

“I’m not injured,” she tells him, and the deadly focus fades from Link’s frame. “I mean the last time I _bled_.” She waves a hand vaguely downward. The dangerous look on Link’s face turns into a confused tilt of his brows, and then his blue eyes go wide and he blushes. _I--Sorry for prying_ , he signs, turning his face away and ducking his head. _That’s not any of my business._

“It’ll become your business if I don’t accurately predict when it’s going to start and bleed all over the sheets or the bedroll,” Zelda points out, taking a sip of the barley tea. “I’m not ashamed. It’s perfectly natural and perfectly _annoying_. Don’t make this weird, Link.”

“Uuuuuugh,” he says aloud, rubbing his hands over his face and flopping backward onto the bamboo mats. The table blocks her view a bit, but if she arches her neck she can see him from the shoulders up, and he leaves his hands on his face. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice muffled, “I know I’m being ridiculous, I just keep having visions of your father or the captain of the guard or _my_ father standing over me, reminding me of my duties and all the rules of appropriate behavior and how you’re the _princess_ , I have to treat you with the utmost delicacy and respect or I will be dismissed from the castle, it doesn’t matter if I happen to be the hero of legend.” The next sound that comes out of him is somewhere between a sigh and an anguished groan.

“Well,” Zelda says in a reasonable tone of voice, “we’re not in the castle now.” _All those people are dead_ , she doesn’t say, though she knows they’re both thinking it.

“We’re not,” he agrees, and after another thirty seconds or so of wallowing on the floor he sits back up and pours himself a cup of tea. _So,_ he starts, his face composed and calm but the tips of his ears still flushed, _how do you predict when it’s going to happen?_

“There are some physical signs,” Zelda says, fiddling absently with the embroidery floss and wishing she already had a project going to keep her nervous hands busy. “Lower back pain, gastrointestinal upset, breast tenderness.” Links ears go even pinker but he keeps his eyes on hers and his face betrays no sign of the inner screaming she’s pretty sure he’s doing. “Usually my biggest symptom is intense emotions, but…”

Link snorts before he can stop himself and then looks mortified. She waves a hand before he can apologize. “Yes, exactly. That’s not exactly a reliable indicator right now.”

A nod, and a thoughtful cast to his eyes. _There are elixirs to prevent it entirely, yeah?_ Zelda frowns a question at him, and he adds, _Some of the knights dealt with this... issue, and you overhear a lot in the barracks._

“There are,” Zelda confirms, “but they can have other side effects and I want to make sure everything in my body is in working order before I start messing with it.” She sighs and rubs her temples, slumping over the table. “I was very regular, like clockwork, but I can’t remember how long before the Calamity it had been. I used to keep a calendar in my diary but Hylia knows that’s been lost to the winds of time.”

Link goes very, very still again, this time not like a predator but like prey. Zelda raises an eyebrow at him, slowly, and the flush rolls back down his ears and over his face. Without speaking, he rises, pads over to his pack, and digs around inside. When he returns to the table he slides a weather-battered book across it, one that practically radiates memories.

“Link,” Zelda asks in a very even tone. “Is this my diary?”

A nod, his eyes fixed on the table between them.

“Where did you get it?”

After a pause, his hands move, the motions tiny. _The castle._

“Did you read it?”

His intake of breath and the deeper red of his cheeks tells her the answer before his hands do. _Yes._ His hands still, fingers shaking, and he inhales deeply, adding, _More than once._

“Why?” Zelda asks, giving in to the desire to rest her fingertips on the familiar battered leather cover. She’s not actually angry, but she does want to know the answer.

It takes a long time before Link’s hands move again. _It helped me remember._ His fingers clench together, his eyes going to the diary, and then the ceiling, and then the wall, everywhere around the room and carefully not on her. After an agonizing, silent eternity, he steels himself, jaw firming, and meets her gaze again. _It sounded like you._

How is she supposed to handle this, when he keeps cracking open his ribcage and handing her his still-beating heart to cradle in her palms? What strength can possibly keep her steady, when his face is brave but his eyes are so full of emotions it would take her a hundred more years to understand all of them? She thinks of a dozen different responses and discards each of them as insufficient, and then it’s been quiet for too long and she can sense Link’s anxiety charging up like a beam from a Guardian, so she takes the coward’s way out.

“How in Hylia’s sweet name did it _survive?_ ” she asks, opening the journal to the first page. “I saw the wing my bedroom is in when I went to the castle. This should be wet, rotten pulp.”

Link takes a long swallow of his tea before his answers, and Zelda politely ignores the shake in his fingertips. _I think your binding of the Calamity somehow protected the castle, as well,_ he offers. _I went all through that place and it was damaged, but not nearly as rotten as I would have expected from a hundred years of rain and wind._ He shrugs, looking almost normal, only a lingering pinch of panic around his eyes. _Purah would probably be able to figure out a better answer._

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t really matter.” Zelda rifles through the slightly mildewed volume until she comes to the right page, checks the dates ( _from a century before_ , part of her screams at top volume) and does some mental math. “I’m due in a week,” she says, looking up into Link’s expectant eyes, and he nods, filing that information away with a focus that makes her think that if she somehow forgets, he certainly won’t.

_Is there anything I need to know?_

“I’ve traveled with you while bleeding before,” she says with half a laugh, and his eyebrows come into that adorable little frown. _But I didn’t know it then,_ he insists. _I heard it can be uncomfortable._

Hylia save her, he looks so concerned and determined to be helpful she wants to squish his golden cheeks. “I might need some pain relieving elixirs, depending on how bad it gets. Something hot to press against my abdomen. If my cramps are really awful, it helps to have someone rub my low back, if you wouldn’t mind doing that.”

 _I live to serve, Princess_. The signs come immediately, like he doesn’t even have to think about it, and she turns back to her tea and her old journal to try and cover the emotion that brings up. Zelda leafs through the pages, unseeing, and finally sets it aside so she can go back to unpacking their purchases from the general store.

“Zelda,” Link says, hesitantly, and he calls her by her name so rarely she looks up, startled. He bites his lower lip, uncertainty in his eyes, and reaches across the table to rest his fingertips lightly on the back of her hand. “While I was in the castle, I found your father’s journal. I have it with me. I… I think it would be good for you to read it.”

Zelda swallows around the lump in her throat, turning her hand over so she and Link can grab each other, palm to wrist, like he’s trying to keep her from falling from a cliff, which he is. The cliff is emotional, not physical, but there’s still an abyss open beneath her feet, threatening to drag her down to places she doesn’t want to go. She shuts her eyes and breathes, smelling barley tea and old paper, concentrating on his warm grasp and his pulse under her fingertips. When she’s settled, when the abyss recedes back to a crack that might trip her rather than a hole she might lose herself in, she opens her eyes and squeezes his wrist.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice not as steady as she’d like. “I don’t think I want to do that just yet, but thank you.”

Link nods, his eyes seeing right through her. “When you’re ready,” he says softly, and strokes his thumb lightly across the tender skin on the inside of her arm before he withdraws. Zelda downs the rest of her tea in one swallow in an attempt to camouflage her reaction and gathers up the various sundries from the general store. “I’ll just put these away,” she says unnecessarily, bustling into the bedroom. She sets her armload down on top of the chest of drawers and clutches the edges of the wood, white-knuckled. _Control_ , she reminds herself, but this aching, yearning want isn’t the same simple animal desire she knows how to deal with. It’s deeper, infinitely more dangerous, burning hotter and ready to reduce her to ash.

She’s in love with Link. She’s known it for years but never let herself admit it in actual words, because admitting it makes it so much sharper, so much more real. Zelda is absolutely, positively, head-over-heels in love with her knight, and even worse, she’s completely free of the strictures that would have kept her from acting on it a hundred years before. If she chose, she could turn around, walk into the sitting room, confess her feelings, and kiss him square on his beautiful, perfect, ridiculous mouth. There aren’t any rules holding her back, not anymore, and that freedom is the most terrifying prospect of her life.

 _It’s too soon,_ she tells herself firmly. _I don’t even know what he wants, now that the Calamity is gone. We’re both finding our footing._

 _And yet you keep finding your footing next to_ **_him_** _,_ a part of her mind says, a part that’s a dirty rotten traitor. _Weird how every time you stumble, he’s there to catch you._

 _He’s very protective_ , Zelda snaps at the little voice. _He’s doing his job_. The drawer squeaks open when she pulls it, and she starts packing away the toiletry items and her new sewing supplies.

 _Fine,_ the voice says snidely. _If you’re going to be that clueless about it, I’m not going to help you figure it out._ Zelda sighs and slumps over to set her head on the cool wood of the chest of drawers. Arguing with herself like this is never a great sign. She drops her hand into the drawer and it brushes against the faded green dress Link bought her from the stable. It’s actually not that bad now that it’s been properly washed, she thinks, and Claree put some darts in it so it fits a little better. Zelda pulls it out and runs her hands over the fabric, eyeing the embroidery floss. If embroidering is anything like writing, she’ll be utter shit at it for a few days before her hands get the hang of it again. It would be good to practice on something that would only be improved by the attempt.

There’s another cup of tea waiting for her when she returns to the table with her dress and the embroidery floss. Link looks up from the slate, making another note on his mysterious paper, and offers her one of those small, private smiles. Zelda smiles back as she settles down, not betraying outwardly the way that little curl of his lips makes her insides do dangerous things.

Oh, she is _so_ fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen if you don't want me to solve every problem with bombs then don't give me infinite bombs to solve problems with
> 
> Oh, also! This story is sans beta and AO3 loves to add weird extra spaces after italics when I copy-paste from Google Docs. If y'all spot a typo, please feel free to let me know so I can fix it. Sometimes my brain just refuses to see the little heckers
> 
> (And to the commenter saying you can't wait to see where this story is going: Damn, friend! Same!)


	8. Chapter 8

It takes a week in Kakariko for Zelda to stop needing afternoon naps. Once she makes it through two days in a row without the urgent need for sleep interrupting her plans, her feet start itching to get on the road again. Her time in Kakariko has been a balm for her soul, soothing parts of herself that still ached from Before. There’s a beautiful simplicity in unstructured time, and every meal shared with Impa, every moment spent teaching Paya court dances, every improvised embroidery stitch she adds to the green dress pours cool water into the well of her heart, replenishing her in a way she didn’t know to expect. It’s so, so tempting to stay here, to dive deep into the village and never leave this gentle, quiet freedom.

_But._

Kakariko is only one part of Hyrule, and she’s always been the most comfortable on the back of a horse, or exploring a hillside on her own two sturdy legs. She wants to see her land, her _home_. She wants to meet the people and hear their stories. She wants to know everything, and she can’t achieve that if she stays in Kakariko forever.

“I think I’ll probably want to hold a council, with the leaders of the other races, now that the Calamity is gone,” she tells Impa over tea, Link off seeing to their travel supplies. “I don’t know when. Not immediately, we’ll have to make preparations first, and allow people time to travel.”

Impa nods, eyes distant as she considers the logistics. “That seems wise. Where would you like to hold it?”

Zelda blinks, realizing she hadn’t said. “Here in Kakariko, of course.”

Impa’s eyes widen. “Are you sure that’s wise? The Sheikah are not always well regarded in the rest of the world.”

“You used to tell me to start as I intended to go on,” Zelda says crisply. “Hyrule would have fallen to the Calamity without the Sheikah, and I refuse to allow that to be swept under the rug due to foolish superstition.” She takes a vicious sip of her tea and lowers the cup when she feels calmer. “Also, solely from a practical standpoint, Kakariko makes sense. It has geology that will make everyone feel welcome, water for the Zora, and as I understand it from what Link tells me, it’s the most centrally-located village that’s still intact. Everyone will have to travel to get here. It’s fair.”

The lines around the corners of Impa’s eyes deepen as she smiles, pride rolling off her like heat waves. “You’ll be a great queen someday, if you choose that path. Very well, my dear, Kakariko will prepare to host a council in no sooner than a month, but we will wait for word from you. Does that work with your plan?”

“It does.” They lapse into silence with their tea, comfortable with the quiet. Zelda refills their cups before Impa speaks again. “Where will you go next?”

“Hateno,” Zelda answers, inhaling the steam from her cup. “Link has a house there.”

“Oho,” Impa says, her eyes sharpening, her mouth curling up into a knowing smirk. “Taking you home, is he? Exactly how many bedrooms does this house have?”

“I don’t know,” Zelda says breezily. “It hasn’t come up in conversation.”

“I’m sure it hasn’t,” Impa mutters over her cup. Zelda serenely takes another sip. If Impa won’t ask a straight question, Zelda isn’t going to volunteer any additional information.

“So are you two fucking yet?”

Zelda chokes and spits tea into Impa’s lap, which, frankly, the old woman deserves for asking _that._ She wipes her mouth and grasps desperately for the edges of her composure to say, “I fail to see how that’s any of your business.”

Impa raises one wizened brow and mops herself up with a napkin. “That’s not a no,” she observes dryly. Somewhere deep inside her gut Zelda finds steel to shore up her spine and flatten her facial expression. “No,” she says, her voice flat. “We’re not. I’ll thank you not to engage in any further speculation on my sexual activity.”

The wry expression on Impa’s face softens into something gentler. She reaches out one hand to rest on Zelda’s knee and gives her a squeeze. “My dear princess,” she says, her voice low, “my greatest wish is for you to be happy, and I see how you light up around him. Most of us don’t get a second chance. Don’t let anything hold you back this time.”

Zelda flushes and sighs, the fight going out of her shoulders. “I know, Impa. It’s just…” She trails off, not having the words to explain how fresh it still all feels, how her emotions are still scraped raw and vibrating, how Link makes it worse and better at the same time. Thankfully, Impa pats her knee and says, “It’s all right, Zelda. I understand. Just don’t let go of him.” The old woman withdraws and takes another sip of her tea, adding, “If for no other reason, keep him around for his face and his risotto. A boy that handsome who can cook? If I was eighty years younger...”

“If you were eighty years younger you’d already be married to someone else,” Zelda points out. Impa levels a glare at her. “Yes, and my husband was handsome and good in the kitchen, so I know what I’m talking about.”

“I will give your advice the careful consideration it deserves,” Zelda deadpans. Impa snorts and takes another sip of tea.

The village has decided to throw a party the night before their departure, because as Paya puts it, “The Calamity is gone and the people want to get drunk without fear for once in their lives.” Zelda is to be the guest of honor. She learns this the afternoon of the party from Cottla, who wants to know if she’s, “Gonna dress up really fancy so you look like a real princess?” Zelda smiles and pats Cottla’s little head and then sends the girl off to play tag with Link without giving a real answer, trying to ignore the anxiety sinking into her gut. A little way off Paya is directing a few Sheikah as they set up banners, and Zelda walks over to her briskly, outwardly calm, and then grabs her by the elbow and drags her into the shelter between two nearby houses.

“Please tell me there aren’t going to be speeches. And that _I’m_ not expected to give a speech.” The words come out more wildly than Zelda means them to, and she can’t seem to relax her hand on Paya’s elbow.

“What?” Paya says, bewildered, before she gets a good look on Zelda’s face. “Oh, Zelda, no,” she says, her voice soft, her hands coming up to grip Zelda’s forearms reassuringly. “Nothing like that. Link and I made sure of it. There’s going to be a head table with you and Impa and Link under a bunch of decorations. Impa will say a few words about the end of the Calamity. Then it’s just food and music and dancing for the rest of the night.”

Zelda takes a deep breath and tries to un-knot the tension in her shoulders. “Okay,” she says, mostly to herself. “Okay, I think I can handle that.”

Paya studies her face for a moment, bites her lower lip thoughtfully, and offers, “Would you like a hug?”

“Yes,” Zelda says immediately with a depth of feeling that surprises even her. Paya pulls her into a real rib-cracker of a hug, so tight it’s hard for Zelda to breathe, and holds her there long enough that it almost gets awkward. It never quite tips over into being weird, though, because the pressure and the warmth of another person squeezes out the anxiety, and by the time Paya releases her Zelda feels settled and calm.

“Damn,” she says, blinking at Paya. “You’re really good at hugs. That was exactly what I needed.”

Paya blushes and averts her eyes with a shrug. “If you’re as anxious as I am, you eventually learn strategies to deal with it.”

“Well,” Zelda says firmly, “it’s a great strategy and I appreciate it.” Her hands are still on Paya’s forearms, she realizes, and she drops them and offers the girl her elbow so they can walk back out of the alley. “So,” Zelda starts, tone playful, “you and Link made sure of it, hmm?”

Paya groans from deep in her chest and blushes. “It would be more accurate to say that Sir Link signed very emphatically at me for five minutes when he found out about the party and I, in keeping with every other conversation we’ve ever had, stammered and nodded and tried to resist the urge to run away, and then I made sure to arrange things based on his requests.” Her dark eyes cut over to Zelda, self-deprecation in every inch of her face. “I honestly don’t know how you deal with it.”

“Well,” Zelda says again, her face serious, “I started out by hating his guts for about three months, and then I just got used to it. I suggest seeing if you can manage to really loathe him for a while and see if that makes things easier.” Paya snorts at that, and Zelda pats her elbow and leaves her to oversee the rest of the preparations and very carefully doesn’t give away how thoroughly she’s not dealing with it at all.

Link finds her, later, in their suite at the inn, all of her clothes spread across the beds and Zelda staring down her choices, eyes wide, shoulders tight. “Princess?” he asks, voice as soft as the fingers he brushes against her elbow.

“I don’t know what to wear,” she grits out, glaring at the pile of dresses and tunics as though expecting an attack. “I didn’t know they’d--they’d be putting me on _display_. I didn’t _plan_ for this. I should have had a plan.”

“Princess,” Link says again, tugging on her elbow until she turns away from her damnable wardrobe to face him more fully. He grabs her upper arms, squeezes them, and drops his hands to sign, _It’s going to be fine. You can wear whatever you want. No one’s going to judge you for not having a fancy gown--_

“Except Cottla.”

 _\--except Cottla,_ he agrees smoothly. _If anyone tries to make you give a speech or does an awkward toast or something I’ll… I’ll do a backflip to distract them._ That surprises a snort out of her, and her shoulders drop a little. Link catches it, his eyes going soft and his mouth curling up at the corner. _They all know we’re heading out early tomorrow, so if you leave after the dinner no one will mind. Or, if you really don’t want to go, I’ll tell everyone you ate something weird and are too ill to attend._

“I’ve only been eating your cooking,” she points out. “You’d implicate your culinary skills like that to get me out of a party?”

 _I live to serve, Princess,_ he tells her, and squeezes her shoulders again. She swears she can feel each gloved finger on her skin like a brand, even through her clothes. Link steps back and nods once, firmly, suddenly her knight again. _Now, how can I help?_

Zelda turns back to her clothes and eyes them for another long moment, a tension headache lurking somewhere behind her eyes. She rubs her temples, squeezes her eyes shut, and asks, hesitantly, “I know I’m being ridiculous, but can you pick out something for me to wear? I just--I just can’t make the decision right now.”

“Of course,” Link says, still in that soft voice, and he turns her around with gentle hands on her shoulders and guides her over to sit next to the table. He leaves her there for a moment, her hands over her face as she tries to tell herself it’s fine, she’s recovering, she’s allowed to ask for help, this doesn’t make her _weak_. When he comes back he sets down a glass of water with some mint in it, her embroidery kit, and the green dress. _Relax a bit_ , he tells her. _It’ll be all right._ Zelda nods, keeping her face under control, carefully _not_ bursting into tears with how much she fucking loves him. She takes a sip of the water with steady hands and picks up her needlework, losing herself in the familiar, meditative stitches, not thinking about anything but each precise movement of the needle through the fabric.

“Princess,” Link says quietly, some three flowers later, and she startles a little as she looks up at him. _You can get changed. I have to go get something, but I’ll be right back._ Zelda safely stows the needle through the work and pads into the bedroom as he leaves. Not only did he decide on her outfit for tonight, he packed up the rest of her clothes while he was at it, so the only garments waiting for her in the room are spread carefully across the bed as though they’re meant to be on display in a shop window. Zelda slips closer, half-holding her breath, as though they're going to run away from her.

Link picked out the blue dress, not Champion blue, but deeper, like a pool of water. The skirt hits below her knees at a length that’s practical enough for climbing a hillside, but also full enough that it would flare out if she twirled, and the matching blue linen leggings will protect her modesty no matter what she gets up to at the party. The crisp white blouse for wearing under the dress has a scoop neck and full sleeves that gather just below her elbows, leaving her forearms bare. The reason for that choice is immediately apparent: he’s laid out her ceremonial jewelry, the necklace and bracelets she wore into the castle that horrible day a century before, that she discarded next to the bathing pool that first night After. He must have packed them away, she realizes with a jolt of crackling lightning behind her ribcage, patiently waiting for when she needed them again. She runs her trembling fingers over the gleaming gold and wonders what she ever did to deserve having this boy in her life. Perhaps a past incarnation of the Princess was better than her, perfect and royal and kind and flawless, and somehow that Princess passed her goodness down the line until it ended up in Zelda, who reaps the benefits without being worthy of them.

 _Goddesses_ , Zelda thinks, giving herself a little shake. _I’m getting maudlin in my old age._ She shoves the wallowing aside and changes quickly, wanting to avoid Link walking in on her while she’s half-dressed. He’d blush, and it would be adorable, but it would be shitty of her to repay his kindness by manufacturing an awkward situation, and honestly she’s still feeling too weird and exposed to find that appealing just at the moment.

She’s back at the table with her glass of water when Link returns, a fabric-wrapped bundle in his hands. “Well?” she asks, rising to her feet and doing a little twirl. “Happy with your choices?”

“Are you?” he asks in return, a worried set to his eyebrows as his eyes rake over her head to toe. There’s no heat in his gaze, just concern, and Zelda suppresses a smile.

“I am,” she says quietly. “Thank you.”

The relieved smile he gives her transforms his whole face. “Good,” he says. “Give me just a moment and I’ll finish up.” He sets the bundle down on the table as he crosses into the bedroom, sliding the paper screen closed behind him. Zelda does her best to ignore both the sounds of shifting clothing and the little bundle, picking up her embroidery instead. _Control._

Another flower later, the screen shhhfs open again to reveal Link in his Champion’s tunic, fresh from the laundry, a pair of slim fitting charcoal gray trousers, and an armful of jewelry. The latter he deposits on the table, then extricates a comb from it, picks up the bundle of whatever it is he gathered, and kneels behind Zelda. She freezes up when the teeth of the comb brush the crown of her head and Link stills immediately. “Okay?” he asks, all warmth and protection and trust, and Zelda swallows down a whine and clears her throat. “Yes,” she says, replacing her embroidery on the table and folding her hands in her lap, so she can clench them together instead of doing something foolish. “I was only surprised.”

“Sorry,” he says, and the comb moves again, and Zelda tries not to purr. The goddess-trance takes her, the one that happened back when he cut her hair, and she’s vaguely aware that things are happening, and of something cool going around her head, and then some other things are happening, but she doesn’t care. Golden light surrounds her and buoys her up, her skin tingling from her scalp all the way down her spine, and more than anything she just tries not to fall asleep.

“Okay,” Link says some time later, and Zelda struggles her eyes back open and tries to compose herself as he shuffles around on his knees so he can face her. She’s still facing the table, and he has to tap her gently on the shoulder before she realizes what he needs her to do, and she turns to him. Hylia, she hopes her face isn’t too red.

Link’s eyes sweep over her face, appraising, and he rummages through the jewelry on the table. The earrings he selects are gold with clear, sparkling stones, and he holds them next to her ears, squinting at her critically. He hands them to her without a word and rises. By the time Zelda’s managed to get the earring hooks through her ears with her useless hands he’s back, this time handing over a golden belt that looks Gerudo made. The belt seems to be the final touch, because he gives her a quick once-over and nods. _You should make sure you approve_ , he tells her, jerking his chin toward the mirror in the bedroom. _I just need another minute and we can head out._

Zelda makes it to the bedroom in a bit of a daze that ends as soon as she catches sight of her reflection. Three silent steps to the mirror and she puts a hand to her head, fingertips ghosting over petals. While she uselessly drifted, putty in his hands, Link settled a diamond circlet on her head, twisted her hair up around it, and worked Silent Princesses into the whole thing, giving her a crown of gold leaves and white flowers. The matching diamond earrings make her neck look longer, especially with her hair up, and the gold belt around her hips makes her simple dress into something elegant and elevated. She turns, watching her reflection, stands strong and straight with her chin high and her shoulders back. It’s no princess who looks back at her, no child constrained by duty and protocol. The mirror holds an ancient queen, a ruler of the wild places, the goddess worshiped at the solstice as the bringer of summer. She looks like something entirely new, and still somehow entirely herself. Zelda grins, her teeth in the mirror fierce and feral, full of the certainty that there’s nothing she can’t do.

“It’s perfect,” she tells him, coming back around the corner into the sitting area. “Thank you, this is so much better than I was capable of figuring out.”

“I live to serve,” he says, half-distracted as he threads an earring through one ear. A silver and sapphire circlet rests on his brow, matching earrings in his ears now that he’s managed to put them on. He’s braided his forelocks and threaded blue and silver beads onto them that shine when he moves, dangling next to his chin.

“When did you get so fashionable?” she asks, leaning against the doorframe and watching him with soft eyes. “You never were Before.”

 _I had a uniform Before,_ he points out, examining himself in a little hand mirror propped up on the table. _I didn’t have a chance to be fashionable. I assure you, I would have been._ Link grins up at her, impish, his eyes as blue as the sapphire on his forehead, and Zelda thinks very hard about crossing the room and dropping to one knee and tilting his head up with a finger under his chin and pressing her lips to that smiling mouth. She thinks very hard about running her hands into his hair and yanking out the tie holding it into a ponytail, about scratching her fingernails into his scalp and what sounds he might make when she does it. She thinks very hard about pushing him to the ground with her body weight and pinning him there, what he might feel like under her, if she’d be able to feel his heart race against hers.

Zelda does none of those things. Zelda instead crosses to the door and sits to put on her boots in the little alcove. “Well,” she says brightly, “I’m glad you’ve had the opportunity to explore it now. They should be ready, yes?”

“You’re the guest of honor,” Link points out, coming over to put on his boots next to her. “They can’t exactly start without you.”

“Then I suppose we shouldn’t keep them waiting.” Zelda stands, ignoring the ache in her guts and her heart and between her legs, crushing it all down into a little box that she locks away. “Oh,” she says, remembering suddenly. “Do you think Cottla will think this counts as dressing up as a real princess?” She turns to Link, inexplicably concerned about this ridiculous question, to find him watching her like she’s a sunrise. Their eyes meet and the moment stretches out forever, some kind of golden heat spooling out between them like thread and getting just as tangled. Link flinches first, glancing away, ears gone pink. _I think she will_ , he signs, _but we--we should go find out in person. Now._

“Good idea,” she says, just a little frantically, and it’s like they’re both trying to flee the situation but fleeing in the same direction doesn’t exactly _work,_ does it? The air outside is cool with the promise of sunset, at least, so by the time they reach the celebration proper her ears have lost their flush. Impa waves them over to the head table and Zelda takes her seat in the middle, Impa to one side, Link to the other, and smiles placidly out at the crowd. She can do this. It will be fine.

The party, to her mild surprise, actually _is_ fine. As promised, Impa makes a short speech about the end of the Calamity and the success of the Hero and the Princess, and she and Link have to stand up and let everyone applaud them for an excruciating minute, but that’s it as far as ceremony goes. It helps immensely when she glances over at Link during the interminable applause to find the same rictus grin on his face that she knows she’s wearing on hers, and they make quietly pained eyes at each other until they can sit back down. The food is excellent, the musicians are skilled, and Zelda spends most of her time sipping a glass of watered-down plum wine in between bites of roasted fish or salty, brothy soup or pan-fried noodles. Cottla runs up to the table to demand that Zelda stand up and twirl for her and, after an intense examination, declares Zelda, “A real princess with a crown and everything!” before being led away by an apologetic Dorian. Zelda, Impa, and Link swap stories of stuffy castle functions from Before that don’t measure up in the least to this celebration, out under the stars, Sheikah joyfully pushing the tables back and dancing in the village square with no thought to court rankings. Two glasses of weak wine in, a happily flushed Zelda tracks down Paya and badgers her into dancing one of the old court dances. The shamisen, shakuhachi and taiko band is absolutely the wrong tempo for it, and their resultant lurching sends them both into a fit of giggles. The musicians figure it out, though, and other Sheikah come over to learn the steps, and before Zelda knows it half the village is gliding through a stately gavotte. Something about the atmosphere, either the torchlight or the giddy knowledge that the Calamity is gone or possibly just the amount everyone has had to drink, breaks the spell of reverence the Sheikah had for Zelda. She finds herself pulled into conversations about crop rotations and fashion choices and favorite foods, ordinary conversations that have nothing to do with rank, and it’s all perfect until it suddenly isn’t. Between one moment and the next a pleasant chat with Claree and Lasli about dye colors goes sour, their words shifting into an incomprehensible babble, the pressure of the crowd around her almost physical. It’s too many people, too many voices, too many sights and sounds and smells. She can’t understand any of it, can’t separate out the faces or the voices or tell the difference between friend and foe. Zelda’s court training comes back into play as she smiles, politely excuses herself from the conversation, walks with calm, measured steps to the edge of the crowd, and then ducks behind the corner of a building and sprints into the darkness.

She comes to a stop halfway up the hill, on the terrace above the plum orchard. It’s quieter up here, the noise of the party faded into a joyful background murmur, and she picks her way through the grass to the stream that runs through the garden beds. Her boots and socks come off, her leggings rolled up, and she sits and dangles her feet in the shockingly cold water and waits for her heart to stop racing. Panic attacks are perfectly normal, she tells herself, pressing her hands into the ground and taking deep, slow breaths. This will pass; faster if she can stay centered on her actual body, here in the real world, and not lose herself in the swirl of her own lying mind. The cold water helps, as does the cool night air. Zelda watches the fireflies and she breathes.

A twig snaps behind her, and she knows without looking that it’s Link, mainly because her knight moves with practiced silence and she heard no other footsteps, so if he stepped on a twig it was on purpose to alert her to his presence. “Princess?” he asks, voice barely audible over the water as it tumbles down the terrace wall. “Are you okay?”

Zelda inhales, holds it until it starts to hurt, and blows the air out through her nose. “I will be,” she says. “It was too much. Didn’t recognize what was happening until it was too late. I needed to get away.” She assumes he nods, and that his face looks all concerned and understanding, because that’s just how he is.

“Do you want to be alone?” Link’s voice is low, gentle, and she knows from the tone that if she says yes, he will withdraw far enough to give her privacy but stay close enough that if she needs him, he’ll be there in an instant. She also thinks that, somewhere underneath the words, underneath his willing self-sacrifice, there’s something like yearning. Zelda turns, looking at him over her shoulder, and holds out a hand in silent invitation. She can’t see his face in the moonlight, can just see the outline of him, all silver and black. After a moment that weighs a thousand pounds, he crosses the grass between them and takes her hand. She tugs him down to sit beside her, and he takes off his boots and dangles his bare feet in the water next to hers.

“Shit, Princess” he hisses, pulling them immediately back out, “this is freezing! What are you _doing?_ ”

“‘Specific unignorable physical stimuli can help calm a panic attack, by giving the sufferer something they must focus their attention on, interrupting the emotional and mental feedback loop,’” Zelda recites, quoting a medical text she read sometime long ago. Link released her hand in order to take off his boots, and at this he takes it again, interlaces their fingers, and squeezes. She cocks her head at him and raises her eyebrows in a taunt, knowing he probably can’t see her. “Also, I’m not a fucking coward.”

“Oh, that’s how it is?” Link asks, the twist to his mouth barely visible, and he drops his feet back into the water with a splash. They sit in silence, the fireflies zipping around them, and after an intense internal debate Zelda scoots over to press her side against Link’s and, when he doesn’t pull away, leans her head on his shoulder. He goes rigid for the space of a breath and her heart stutters when he releases her hand, but then he shifts so he can wrap that arm around her shoulders and pull her a little more firmly against him. Zelda shuts her eyes and melts into him, her feet cold, his body warm, smelling salt and leather and Link and the cool night air.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “It was a nice party.”

“I live to serve,” Link whispers in her ear, and she fights the urge to press her face into his neck so she can taste his skin. Whatever that would bring would ruin this perfect, quiet moment, and she can’t bring herself to do anything that would shatter what they have right now. Zelda breathes Kakariko and Link deep into her lungs and tries not to overthink this.

“Zelda,” Link says quietly, some time later when the moon has moved another handspan across the sky. He shifts under her, his fingertips under her chin to lift her head from his shoulder. A firefly zips by, bright green reflecting from his eyes as he looks her over, and he leans in to touch his forehead gently to hers, mindful of the gems they both wear. Is this it? Zelda freezes, everything still except her beating heart, ready to vibrate out of her skin with anticipation. She can feel his breath against her lips, oh, Hylia--

“I can’t feel my fucking feet.”

The laugh that claws its way out of Zelda’s throat is an inelegant thing, and Link grins in the darkness, squeezing her into his side once more before he releases her. “Do you want to go back to the party, or do you want to go to sleep?” he asks her, digging a handkerchief out of a pocket to dry his feet before he puts his socks and boots back on.

“Why are you assuming I want to go anywhere?” Zelda asks, tossing her head. She pulls one leg out of the water and points her toe elegantly, which is a real struggle with how numb they’ve gone. “Maybe I like not being able to feel my feet.”

“You’re shivering,” he points out bluntly, handing her the handkerchief, and Zelda gives in and dries her feet off.

“Back to the party first,” she says, putting on her boots and climbing awkwardly back to standing. “I’d like to say good night to a few people, and I think I missed dessert.”

“I saved you some fruit cake,” Link says immediately, catching her elbow as she staggers on stiff legs.

“Of course you did,” she mutters, flushing warm and fond and exasperated from her nose to the tips of her ears. “I guess I’d better do the polite thing, then, and eat it.”

Link bows, sweeping an arm in the direction of the party. “Your cake awaits, your Highness,” he says in a full court accent, offering her his elbow like a noble lord. She bobs a curtsy, rests her fingertips on his arm as though they’re about to make a circuit of a ballroom, and tries her very best not to fall even more in love with him.

She fails.

Oh, well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo don't get used to this update schedule, I just had the spirit come over me and spat out 4500 words literally today.


	9. Chapter 9

Zelda and Link are up with the dawn the next morning, having fallen into bed at a reasonable hour but probably still a bit later than they should have. They’re clearly doing better than Paya, though, who winces every time she moves her head too fast. Impa shows absolutely no signs of having stayed up too late or overindulged the night before, and Zelda wonders if it’s a factor of discipline or if the Sheikah elder is just somehow that powerful.

“We’ll be in touch,” Zelda promises, dropping to one knee so she can hug Impa properly. “I’ll send Link via the Sheikah slate, or come myself. Keep me informed about the preparations for the council?”

“Of course, my dear Princess,” Impa says, cupping Zelda’s face in her hands and dropping a warm, dry kiss on her forehead. “Write letters and make that knight of yours bring them to me so he’s good for something.”

“Hey,” Zelda says sharply. “He also cooks and carries the bag.”

 _I live to serve_ , Link signs, deadpan, and submits to Impa’s hug with good grace. Zelda moves to Paya and pulls her in gently. “How much did you have to drink last night?” she whispers, and Paya gives a little pained laugh.

“Not that much,” she whispers back. “I just forgot to drink water, a mistake I will never repeat.” She pats Zelda’s back and they pull away until they can clasp each other’s forearms. “I’ll write,” Paya promises.

“I’ll visit,” Zelda promises in return, and they give each other a squeeze and pull away. Link steps up and gives Paya a businesslike handshake and a nod. Paya goes a little pink around the ears but she doesn’t squeak or pass out or flee. “S-Sir Link,” she manages with barely a stammer. “It’s been a pleasure.”

 _Thank you for arranging the party last night,_ Link tells her. _It was lovely._

“You’re welcome,” Paya says, the pink creeping down her ears and onto her cheeks. Link claps her on the shoulder like she’s a fellow knight and turns away. Paya’s wide eyes meet Zelda’s and she mouths, “ _I did it._ ” Zelda grins and gives her an approving nod, turning away as well to head down the stairs.

“Oh, Goddesses,” Paya breathes, behind her, reaching out a hand to grab her shoulder. “Zelda. Zelda, I think she did it.”

It takes Zelda a moment to figure out what Paya’s talking about, and she’s about to ask for clarification when movement out across the village catches her eye. Almost no one else is up this early after the previous evening’s party, but a door swings open on one of the houses… The house with a _loom_ set up under the porch awning. Zelda fumbles a hand back to clamp onto Paya’s elbow, and they watch in rapt silence as a rumpled Sheenah, still in last night’s clothing, slips out into the quiet morning. She stretches, looking a little hungover but immensely pleased, and gets three steps into the yard before Delini leans out after her, holding a belt that matches Sheenah’s robe. Delini says something they can’t catch and Sheenah crosses back for her belt sheepishly. The shorter, darker woman grabs the front of Sheenah’s collar and pulls her in for a kiss. (Zelda and Paya both make a silent kind of squeal--she thinks Link gives them a weird look but she only has eyes for the women across the way.) Delini murmurs something else as she releases Sheenah’s robes and shuts the door again, and Sheenah stands, dazed, on the porch for a long moment before she shakes her head and steals off home.

“Oh that useless goat farmer,” Zelda whispers as Sheenah disappears around a corner. “I’m so proud.”

“I’m glad I got to share this historic moment with you,” Paya whispers back solemnly, and they make deadpan eye contact for a minute before they both dissolve into giggles. Zelda pulls Paya into another hug and buries her face in the girl’s shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re my friend,” Zelda tells her, sincere, and Paya squeezes her ribs and says, “Me, too.”

“Go on, get out of here,” Impa says, smacking Zelda lightly on the hip. “If there’s one thing you learn about goodbyes by the time you’re my age, it’s that they’re better when they’re quick.”

“So should I learn that in the next five years, or…” Link deadpans, and darts off down the stairs when Impa goes to smack him, too. Zelda follows him down to where Tulip and Snowdrop wait for them, occasionally whuffing out a breath or prancing a little on their forelegs in anticipation about getting on the road. Riding out of Kakariko is so familiar it almost hurts with how much everything has changed, and Zelda glances across at her knight, calm and collected and glowing gold as the sunrise light catches his face. It steadies her, knowing he’s at her side, and she settles into the saddle and kicks Snowdrop up into a trot.

They make it over the bridge back into Necluda just before lunchtime, and take a break to eat meat pies and stretch their legs. “If we cut across the field it’s faster, yes?” Zelda asks, trying to remember the route. Their travels Before didn’t take them out to Hateno very frequently, it not being the site of any goddess shrines, but she’s been once or twice for diplomatic purposes.

 _Yes,_ Link confirms, his gestures a little hesitant. _But… The road isn’t that much longer, and it’ll take us around if you… If you don’t want to see where it happened._ She frowns at him and he touches his hand to his chest lightly, the spot on his torso where a Guardian beam hit him a century before, searing the skin and throwing him into the edge of another Guardian he’d just destroyed. The impact broke three of his ribs and collapsed his lung, and still he struggled back to his feet to put himself between her and the next wave of the things. Her hands clench at the memory, fingernails digging into her palms, and she relaxes them with deliberate control.

“I see,” she says, her voice barely shaking. “Thank you for presenting me the option, but I think I want to cross the field.” Zelda refuses to allow the events of the past to change her choices now, in the present. She will overlay those horrible memories with new ones and no ghosts can stop her. Oh, unless… “Would you prefer to go around?” she asks, suddenly contrite. He’s the one who almost died that awful day, after all.

 _I’m good._ Link shrugs. _Been across it more than once. Killed all the still-active Guardians so I feel like I got my revenge._

“Good,” Zelda says, with slightly more relish than she intends, and goes to chase down Snowdrop from a nearby patch of grass. She takes the lead across the Blaterchery Plain without really meaning to, realizing halfway across that her legs have been unconsciously directing her horse to the very center. Link says nothing about their destination, still and silent as they ride until they reach a nest of bokoblins. Zelda stays well back while he clears them out with his characteristic efficiency, and only then does she dismount as well and walk with measured steps to her goal.

The sun is high in the sky, white clouds occasionally dotting the endless blue expanse above her, green grass and wildflowers spreading out around her to the edges of the mountains. The day is beautiful and bright and exactly nothing like that night, but all Zelda sees is darkness and the red glow of the Guardians. She hears not the breeze rustling through the meadow, but their whirring, mechanical legs, a counterpoint to the pounding rain and her own voice begging Link to save himself. Their dead, ruined corpses surround her, half-buried in a century of overgrowth, and she turns in a slow circle until she finds the one she’s looking for, the one that nearly killed her knight. Zelda stares at it for a long, long time, a cold rage slowly boiling up in her guts, and finally she turns on her heel and stalks into the bokoblin camp. There’s a wooden club, basic and sturdy. She snatches it up, tests the weight of it in her hands, and walks back to the dead Guardian as the cold anger fueling her suddenly ignites. Zelda stops next to the destroyed construct, plants her feet, and hits it with the club as hard as she can.

_BANG!_

The impact travels up her arms, vibrating into her shoulders. It breaks something loose, and Zelda swings again.

_BANG!_

The Guardian she sees in her mind’s eye isn’t dark and dead, it’s glowing red as it targets her knight, already exhausted and injured.

_BANG!_

In this version of things, Zelda has a sword, and she pushes Link behind her and stabs the Guardian right through it’s fucking shitty fuckface eye.

_BANG!_

In this version of things, Zelda destroys the Guardian before it can destroy her knight.

_BANG!_

In this version of things, Zelda has power.

_BANG!_

In this version of things, they _win_.

_BANG!_

Zelda beats the club against the cold metal faster, furious, all the helpless rage and grief of that night hissing out of her like boiling water onto coals. Hot tears blur her vision, and she blinks through them and swings the club again and again, ignoring the pain in her hands and the soreness in her shoulders and the way her breath burns in her chest. She takes everything she remembers about that night and pours it into the movements of her arms, pours her whole heart out, red and bleeding, and when the club finally shatters from the abuse she throws the pieces on the ground and howls a sound that’s never come out of her throat before. The sustaining rage drains away in a blink and she drops to all fours, panting, her tears dripping down off her nose and shining on the grass. She feels empty and numb, now, but also free of a great weight.

Link drops down beside her without speaking and sets a handkerchief and a waterskin within her eye line. She rocks back on her heels and attends to them in that order, wiping her face and taking a swig of water. He takes her hands gently in his, examines where the poorly-constructed club rubbed them red and raw, and pulls a pot of salve out of his pack. Link removes his gloves and rubs the salve into her hands with careful movements, eyes on his task, and when he’s done and everything is packed back away he sets one hand solidly in between her shoulder blades and leaves it there. They sit like that, quiet, as the cottonwood fluff clouds blow across the sky. When Zelda’s breathing and heart rate have returned to normal, she puffs out a sigh and pushes to her feet.

The rest of the day’s ride passes in silence, interrupted only by the occasional soothing murmur one of them makes to their horse. Link leads them off the main road into a sort of canyon to make camp near a field of statues and a shrine. Zelda makes a note to check out the shrine before they leave, but mostly she thinks about that night with the Guardians and what she wishes she could have done differently. Her brain turns it around, works it over and over as they set up the tent and she struggles through today’s exercises from Link’s training regimen. She tongues at it mentally like it’s a seed between her teeth as Link puts dinner together, potatoes roasting in the coals and a spicy meat stew slowly simmering on the fire. She thinks about it and she thinks about it and finally, as she sits on one of the shorter statues and absently watches Link work through sword forms in the sunset, she says, “I want you to teach me to fight.”

Zelda expects Link to argue with her, a little, probably mostly about her being a princess. She expects to have to explain her case with a little humor before he agrees. She does not expect him to freeze, sheathe the Master Sword, and whip around to demand, “Why?” It’s louder than normal, full of an emotion she can’t place, and she blinks, taken aback.

“I want to be able to protect myself,” she says slowly, intent on his face. He looks angry and worried. Zelda can’t quite puzzle out what’s going on with him, especially when he responds with, “You don’t need to. That’s what I’m for,” still in that too-loud tone of voice.

“I know,” she says, trying to sound reassuring. “And I appreciate it, but if you’re not around--”

“Why wouldn’t I be around?” Link demands, taking a step closer, breathing hard. This is not at all in character for him, either the man she knew Before or the one she knows now, and Zelda’s getting worried.

“Because you’re ill, or injured--” Zelda tries, and Link cuts her off with, “Are you displeased with my service, Princess? Have I done something wrong?” 

“No,” she says immediately, and he practically shouts at her, “Then why are you trying to get rid of me!?” Sweat shines on his brow, more than she remembers from his exercise, and when she tears her eyes away from his face she realizes his hands are shaking violently. He takes two more steps toward her and practically throws himself on the ground, grabbing her just above her knees with a too-tight grip, eyes wide with panic. “Please,” he begs, his voice cracking, “if I made a mistake, or you’re unhappy with me, just tell me so I can fix it. Don’t--don’t send me away again. I can’t--I don’t-- _please_ , Princess--”

“I’m not,” Zelda interrupts, hands tight around his wrists. “I’d never, Link.” She looks at his face again, feels his pulse racing under her fingertips, hears the little gasps of air that are barely keeping him upright, and realization hits her like a runaway horse. Without thinking about it she slides forward off the statue, landing in his lap with her knees on either side of his hips, and clutches him to her, hard. His arms come around her back and she can feel him trembling from head to toe, why did it take her so long to figure it out?

“Link,” she says in her most soothing voice, “you’re having a panic attack. It’ll be over soon.” She slides one hand up to cup the back of his head and press his face into her collarbone, keeping her breathing slow and even. “Can you feel how I’m breathing, Link?”

He nods against her skin, and she strokes his back. “Good, that’s good. Can you match it? Can you match your breathing to mine, please?”

It takes him a couple of tries, breath stuttering against her neck, but she keeps stroking his back and telling him how well he’s doing, and soon enough they’re breathing in sync. Zelda counts to ten as she inhales and then again to ten as she exhales, his chest against hers and his thighs under her hips. This, she reflects with an inner sigh, is not how she wanted to end up straddling him.

Some time later, when she no longer feels his pulse racing like a terrified rabbit, she pulls back, tucking her fingertips under his chin and tipping his face to hers. Link blinks up at her, the panic gone from his eyes, leaving a drained sort of exhaustion and a certain level of embarrassment. “Better?” she asks, running her hand up and down his spine again, and he flushes, ducking his head away from her gaze. “Much,” he admits. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. If we could control when we had panic attacks, Link, we wouldn’t have them at all.” Zelda slowly extricates herself from the embrace, and once Link realizes how compromising the position was he hurries to help her re-settle on the statue serving as her chair. She grabs his hands before he can escape, squeezing them in hers as she searches his face. “Are you able to tell me what that was about?”

Link’s eyes dart away from hers, his teeth sinking into his lower lip once and then relaxing. “It was nothing,” he absolutely lies, and Zelda squeezes his hands again. “It didn’t seem like nothing,” she says gently. “I won’t force you to talk about it, but I would like to avoid making it happen again, since, I would like to reiterate, I am not sending you away.”

Link looks at her face for a long time, on his knees before her with his hands in hers. He looks for long enough that Zelda wonders what he sees, if it’s the her of a hundred years before or the her of her now or a different her altogether. She sits and she waits and she tries not to worry herself into an anxiety attack, because whew, that’s the last thing they need right now. Finally, an absolute eternity later, Link drops his eyes to their clasped hands and clears his throat.

“When I woke up,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “I heard you speak and I didn’t know who you were, I just knew that it made me hurt to hear it. I kept looking for someone, I felt like something was missing and I didn’t know what it was. Gods, I was so _lonely,_ and I didn’t know _why_. That was the worst part, the not knowing, and I couldn’t do anything about it so I just… I did what I always do. I carried on.” Link takes a deep, shuddering breath, and Zelda holds hers, terrified of ending whatever this is. “Then your father told me about you, and Impa told me about you, and I remembered that day at the mountain, and suddenly it started making sense but that didn’t make it _better_.” He screws up his face, turning away, his hands tight on hers. This is the most she’s ever heard him say at once, like a valve has turned inside him and he’s helpless to stop the flow. She wonders if he’d prefer to sign, but he shows no indication that he’s going to release his death grip so she holds on just as hard.

“It got worse the more I remembered because you still weren’t _there._ I’d see things in shops and I’d think, ‘Oh, she’d like that,’ and buy it and get three steps out the door and the loss of you would hit me all over again. I… I fucking…” Link laughs, and it’s a bitter, shriveled thing, his face still turned away. “I forced myself to think you were dead, like Mipha and Daruk and Revali and Urbosa, because if I didn’t have hope nothing could take it from me. I fought and I trained and I was so _fucking lonely_ and I kept telling myself I wouldn’t fail you again, not this time. And then…”

He looks up at her, and his eyes hit her, so raw and wild and full of anguished hope she feels it like a physical blow. “You came back,” he breathes in wonder. “You came back and you complained about my horse and swore at me and sat next to the fire like you used to and it was so _weird_ but it was like my life slotted into place around you. I knew what I was supposed to be doing and where I was supposed to be. It made _sense_.” His voice cracks again, and he drops his forehead to her knees and breathes hard. Zelda squeezes his hands, her heart racing, all her emotions mixed up inside her guts like millet dropped into sand.

“And today?” she asks, as gently as she can. Link takes another ragged breath and looks up at her again. “And today,” he repeats, “you saw where I failed you last time and then you haven’t talked all afternoon until you asked me to teach you to fight, and I thought--I thought you didn’t want me with you anymore.”

“Why would you think that?” Zelda tries not to accuse, but she has to understand, she _has_ to.

“Because I don’t have anything else to offer you!” he blurts, face tight with some nameless terror. “All I fucking _have_ is my skill with a blade and if you have that you don’t need me anymore!” He drops his head to their clasped hands, pressing against her skin in some kind of supplication. “Please,” he begs raggedly, “please, I promise I won’t fail you again. You don’t need to worry this time. I’m stronger than I was then. Let me protect you.”

Link falls silent, shoulders shaking with each inhale, and Zelda is suddenly brightly, incandescently _angry_ at the world that took this sweet, kind, _noble_ boy and made him think the only value he had was based in destiny. She squeezes his hands and carefully withdraws them so she can cup his face. “Link,” she says, tipping him up until he has to meet her gaze, keeping her voice steady even though the tear tracks on his cheeks make her heart break. “Link, do you know what I thought when I saw those Guardians today?”

He shakes his head, eyes so, so blue and full of a hope he’s trying to hide, and she runs her hand gently from his temple down to his jaw. “I thought, ‘Goddesses, if only I’d been able to _do_ something.’ I thought all about how I would have changed things if I could have fought back then, fought _properly._ I thought--” Zelda stops and swallows around the lump in her throat “--I thought, ‘Maybe I could have saved him.’” She leans down, slowly, and presses her forehead to his, one hand still cupping his jaw. “You work so hard,” she whispers, “you’re so good and you do so much for everyone you meet and you’ve been protecting me and Hyrule for your whole life and it’s not _fair_ , Link, for you to carry that burden alone.” When she sits back up his eyes are wide and wet and desperate and the look on his face claws up the inside her ribcage. “I want to learn how to fight, Link, because I’m sick of standing back and watching you throw yourself into danger without anyone to back you up. I want to learn how to fight because you deserve to have someone at your side who can _help._ ” She drops her hands to his shoulders and squeezes, trying to force the truth of her words into him. “I don’t care about the knight, Link, I care about the person. _I_ want to be able to protect _you_.”

Link stares up at her for a few more silent seconds, a tense kind of yearning in every inch of his body and on his beautiful face. His breath hitches once in something like a sob, and he crumples into her, crawling forward between her legs to press his face to her belly. The tears start in earnest then, almost silent except for his shuddering breaths, his arms tight around her back as he falls apart. “No one,” he rasps out at one point, “no one’s ever--” and his voice breaks again.

“Shh,” Zelda says, stroking her hand over his hair. “I know. It’s okay. I have you.” They stay like that for a long time, princess and knight, still as the statues around them but for the quiet sound of Link’s weeping. Eventually that sound, too, fades, and Link pushes slowly away so he can rock back onto his heels. He scrubs at his red eyes with his hands and, when Zelda proffers her handkerchief, huffs half a laugh.

“See, this is why I worry you’re trying to replace me,” he says, wiping his face. “I’m supposed to be on handkerchief duty.”

“It’s selfish not to share,” Zelda says crisply, crossing her arms and tossing her head. “That includes handkerchief duty. I expect you to put me on cooking duty next.”

“Fuck!” Link says, shooting to his feet. “The stew!” He’s across the meadow by the fire before Zelda can blink. She trails him over to find a roasted potato waiting in a bowl, and her knight tasting something on a spoon that smells delicious. “It didn’t burn,” Link says in relief, and Zelda smothers a smile as she sits down.

They don’t talk much over dinner, nor while they get ready for bed. Link probably used up tomorrow’s whole allotment of words on his confession, to say nothing of how exhausting a panic attack can be, and Zelda still feels a little delicate and shaken from her experience in Blatchery Plain. It’s not a bad silence, not one that feels awkward, so they let it stretch out unbroken until Zelda crawls into the bedroll and rolls over to watch Link follow her into the tent. They have a couple pieces of luminous stone in the corner, which cast just enough light to give the darkness texture (and enough light that if one of them has to get up to pee in the middle of the night, they won’t trip on anything). He ties the flap closed and turns on his knees to look at her, the planes of him picked out of the shadow like a ghost. Normally at this point he’ll crawl over and lay down on top of the bedroll, like a self-sacrificing walnut, but he just stays there, on his knees, his eyes barely visible in the blue glow of the stones. There’s something fragile about him, something needy in what she can see of his face. He swallows, seems like he’s going to speak, and instead fidgets a little.

“Link?” Zelda asks softly, trying not to startle him, as though he’s spun of glass and crystal instead of blood and bone. “What do you want?”

He stares at her in the near-darkness for another few breaths and finally crawls closer, setting one trembling hand on the corner of the bedroll. “I--” he starts, his hand fisting in the fabric as he tugs at it a little “--can I--”

Zelda pulls the top of the bedroll back and opens her arms to him. He lets out a breath that’s so relieved it’s almost a word and follows her down. Link ends up on his side, his head on her shoulder and his legs curled under hers, one of Zelda’s arms spooning down his back and his free arm thrown around her waist. She tugs the bedroll back up around them, tucking it around his shoulders before she rests her hand on his forearm. He curls into her, tighter, pulling her closer and pressing his face against her collarbone.

“Thank you,” he whispers, a ghost in the darkness, and Zelda whispers, “Of course,” and means “ _I love you._ ” Hylia save her, the words linger on the tip of her tongue, she wants to say them out loud _so badly_ , but Link is so shattered right now that it would be cruel to throw that at him. She gives in to temptation just a little and drops a kiss on the crown of his head, inhaling the warm sunshine smell of his hair. It’s plausible deniability that kissing the top of her knight’s head is an appropriate, platonic gesture. This is a thing that friends do, right? The little sigh he gives is the best reward she could ask for, and she rubs his back, every muscle distinct under her fingers with only his thin linen sleep shirt separating their skin.

“Sleep,” Zelda says, stroking her thumb across the bare skin of his forearm. “I have you.” Link’s breath hitches, once, his arm spasming tighter for an instant. Tears hit her collarbone a moment later, his shoulders shaking under her arm. “Okay?” she whispers, and he nods against her skin. “Okay,” she says, and strokes his back while he cries silently, until eventually his breath evens out and the tears stop and Zelda follows him down into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, DEFINITELY don't get used to this update schedule, friendos, this was one of those chapters I've been planning for a while so I just kinda spat it out. Even I wasn't expecting to get this done today.


	10. Chapter 10

Zelda wakes up alone and they don’t talk about it. Link makes pancakes topped with fresh applesauce, hands her a plate with a smile, and they don’t talk about it. He takes her through the shrine, where she makes frantic notes and tries not to scream about the impossibility of it ( _How do the platforms float???_ one says in a scrawl) and they don’t talk about it. They get back on the road, hoofbeats ringing off the cliffs as they climb higher into the hills, and they don’t talk about it. Link looks better, at least, no longer so threadbare, so Zelda is content to let it sit for now.

They ride straight through, only breaking for physical necessities and to let the horses drink some water. Link has rice balls in his pack that they eat in the saddle, and once or twice he gestures Zelda to a halt while he runs off a few bokoblins, but otherwise it’s a straight shot up the road into Hateno. There’s less evidence of the Calamity here, fewer scars in the landscape, Link catches her staring out over the untouched valley with her hand at her heart and signs, _The Fort held. They never got here._ It’s a blessing, is what it is, it’s a fucking _miracle_ to see a place still so beautiful and safe and to know that Ganon couldn’t destroy everything, no matter how he tried.

That miracle-feeling doesn’t fade, only intensifies as they come around a corner out of a stand of woods and she sees Hateno spread out above her on the hillside. There’s a town gate and terraced farms and scarecrows and the distant sound of children playing, and Zelda blinks against the rush of relief. In spite of what she felt as Hylia, in spite of what Impa and Link told her, seeing her people with her own eyes is irreplaceable. She didn’t know how worried she was about what she’d find in Hateno until the worry was gone, the little ice chip behind her heart melted away. She’s going to see _everything_ , she reminds herself, every inch of her land, until she knows it again.

There’s a man with a pitchfork waiting for them at the gate, not quite brandishing it at them but clear that he’s willing to. “State your business!” he calls to Zelda, suspicious, and then looks behind her at Link and relaxes. “Oh, welcome back, Link!” he says, standing at attention. “Been a while. This a friend of yours?”

“Hey, Thadd,” Link says easily, Tulip clopping up alongside Snowdrop and coming to a halt. “This is Pr--”

“Zelda,” she cuts in smoothly, leaning down to only somewhat awkwardly shake Thadd’s hand. “Link and I are old friends. I’m recently out traveling for the first time in a while and he’s kindly acting as my guide.”

“Welcome to Hateno, Miss Zelda,” Thadd says, his callused hand firm on hers for a moment before he steps back. “If you want a tour of the village, I suggest tracking down Seldon. He’d be happy to show you around. The inn’s straight ahead, can’t miss it.” He shows absolutely no signs of recognizing her as the princess of legend, to Zelda’s mild relief.

“Thank you,” she says. “I’ll keep that in mind.” They wait politely for Thadd to move out of the way and Zelda follows Link into the village proper. The place is bustling, people going about their daily shopping, gossiping, children running around underfoot, windmills turning slowly in the breeze. Zelda tries not to stare, it’s just all so ordinary and _wonderful_.

 _Do you want to go see Purah now?_ Link asks her as they clop slowly up the hill. _It’s a bit of a ride but we can still make it._

“I’ve waited a hundred years to see Purah again,” Zelda decides, fingertips drumming on her thighs. “I can wait one more day. I’d like to get out of this saddle.” She casts her eyes over at him sidelong, feeling the tips of her ears flush, and admits, “I’d like to see your house.”

Link ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze, but he directs them up a side path, through a few strangely blocky buildings (what, exactly, is a “model home?”), past a shrine, and across a bridge. The house is sturdy and simple, whitewashed plaster and stone, a chimney at the back and a sign saying, simply, “Link’s House.”

Zelda falls in love with it immediately.

“Hey, Bolson. Hey, Karson,” Link says, swinging down from Tulip and waving at two men sitting under a tree next to a cookfire. Zelda hasn’t even noticed them, too focused on the house, and she inwardly rolls her eyes at her own lack of focus. She’ll have a hard time convincing Link to teach her to fight if she fails to spot potential assailants. Not that she thinks the men are potential assailants, of course, they look far too relaxed for that.

“Link!” says the man in the pink pants who looks absolutely dedicated to lounging. “It’s good to see you, baby! And who is your _lovely_ guest?” He turns his eyes to her and gives her an appraising once-over without an ounce of lasciviousness in it, and Zelda immediately understands why this man calls Link “baby.”

“Zelda,” she says, dismounting and striding over to offer him her hand. “Are you Bolson or Karson?”

He takes her hand and kisses the air above it like a court poet. His hands have a surprising amount of calluses for someone who seems so relaxed, which he explains immediately when he says, “Bolson, owner and operator of Bolson Construction. You rode past our model homes on your way in. What do you think, dearest?”

Zelda blinks and briefly scrambles for a reply. “They seem very efficient,” she says honestly. “I look forward to learning more about them.”

Bolson grins and sketches a little bow. “Always happy to talk about the Bolson family of products to a willing listener!”

“And sometimes to an unwilling listener,” says the man across the fire, presumably Karson. He’s a well-built young man and he winks at Zelda when she smothers a smile.

“You bite your tongue,” Bolson scolds, then he turns back to Zelda and his eyes narrow, flicking over her face and lingering on her hair for a moment. “You said your name was Zelda, dearest?”

Zelda nods, smiles pleasantly, and says nothing.

“Well,” Bolson says, a little smile curling up the corner of his mouth as he leans back on his elbows. “Bolson Construction can work with a variety of materials in a variety of architectural styles, so if, for some reason, you find yourself in need of some _large-scale repairs,_ perhaps on a castle or temple or something like that, you come talk to me first, okey-doo?”

“You’ll be at the top of my list, should I find myself in need of such a thing,” Zelda says with a straight face. Oh, she likes this man and his pink pants and his animal-print collar and his complete disregard for her potential rank. Of course, right then, her potential rank becomes actionable, since Link sticks his head out of his door and calls, “Princess? Are you hungry?”

“For fuck’s sake, Link!” Zelda snaps, covering her face with her hands while Bolson absolutely loses his shit laughing. “I’m trying to be fucking subtle here!” She hears a thump and peeks through her fingers to find that, yes, Link is hitting his forehead against the door frame.

“Princess is a very nice endearment,” Karson says carefully, like he’s offering up a carrot to a skittish horse. “It’s nice to see Link has a--”

“Friend,” Zelda cuts in, turning a dazzling smile on Karson with just a little too many teeth. “He’s really very kind, letting me stay with him for a while.”

“Of course, dearest,” Bolson says smoothly. “Why don’t you go see what your little… _friend_ has for you to eat. Come back and chat anytime. We’ll be around.” He waves her off, politely not smirking though there’s definitely the shape of a smirk around his eyes. Zelda stalks into the house with her head high and glares at an apologetic Link out of the corner of her eye as she does. “Really, Link,” she hisses.

“Sorry,” he says, shutting the door behind them and rubbing the back of his neck in that characteristic embarrassed way of his. Her anger evaporates, both because he’s adorable and because it suddenly hits her that she’s in his _house._ They’ve been sharing a bed for nearly two weeks but this is somehow more intimate. Zelda flexes her fingers at her sides and tries not to give away how she wants to run her hands over every plate and chair and beam as though they’re somehow him. Instead, she turns to him and says brightly, “Well, can I get a tour?”

The tour doesn’t take long, Link explaining as they go about how he came across Bolson and company when they were assigned to demolish it, and then the man’s cheerful willingness to add upgrades and his insistence on furnishing it. _For a while there I only had a bed and some weapon mounts,_ he tells her as he shows her the stable outside where Tulip and Snowdrop have happily settled into their oats. “Sounds about right,” Zelda says with a grin. Link ducks his head, smiling, and shows her the rest of the place, the bathing room on the back of the house, the storage room under the loft, and finally the loft itself with the single large bed in the corner, somehow looming over them for all that it’s the normal height of a bed. Beds can’t loom when they only come up to your knees, Zelda knows this logically, but they both avoid looking too closely at it. They end up down at the table, Link bustling around making tea and slicing up fruit and cheese. He keeps glancing over at her but doesn’t maintain the eye contact, his movements just a little bit too fast, and as he comes over to set down a plate Zelda finally gets a good look at his face and realizes he’s _nervous._

“Link,” she says, catching his wrist before he can escape. “Your house is lovely. Thank you for sharing it with me.” The tension goes out of his shoulders and he smiles at her, shy and a little flushed. “I live to serve,” he says, and then his smile goes sideways into something that makes her dread whatever’s about to come out of his mouth. “Right now,” he says, in tones that are just a little too dramatic, “I live to serve… you this tea!”

“No.” Zelda’s voice is flat and her face vaguely disapproving. She releases his wrist and folds her hands in her lap, a statue carved from ice. Link grins at her, his eyebrows absolutely evil. “Serve you this tea,” he repeats, with overemphasized enunciation.

“I heard you,” Zelda tells him. “I am not dignifying that pun with an acknowledgement.” She takes a slice of apple in silence, Link pouring mugs and setting one down across from her. He eats a piece of cheese and tries not to look at her and finally bursts out laughing.

“It was a fucking terrible pun, Link,” she tells him, the corner of her mouth curling up, and he signs, _I know, I know, it’s just you’re so funny when you’re pretending to hate me._

“You are a nightmare,” she says firmly, and takes a piece of cheese.

Later, after they’ve unpacked (or, rather, after Zelda unpacks, since Link apparently just always stores his clothes in the Korok-enchanted pack to save space), Zelda trails him outside to the meadow that’s apparently part of his property. It’s good land, looks like it gets full sun, would probably be great for a vegetable garden eventually, but right now it’s all grass and wildflowers. He starts the warmup for today’s regimen of exercises and Zelda follows along automatically. Her body goes through the movements, stretching and bending and breathing, while her mind tries to work out the best way to bring up the question of weapon training again. When the warmup is done and Zelda’s rolling out her neck and waiting for Link to describe today’s torture, he turns to her and signs, without any preamble, _What’s the best way to win a fight?_

Zelda blinks. Oh. So he hadn’t forgotten. She narrows her eyes at him, pretty sure this is a trick question. “Logically, I’d say by evaluating your skills against the skills of your opponent and only engaging if you have the superior force. My backup answer is ‘With bombs.’”

Link grins. _Wrong, although I do appreciate your new commitment to bombs._ The smile drops away, his face solemn, the little frown between his eyebrows making an appearance. _The best way to win a fight is not to have it at all. That is the first thing I want you to understand. The absolute best way to stay alive is by not fighting in the first place. Any possible time you can avoid, evade, or flat-out run from a fight I want you to take it._

“Does that go for both of us?” she asks, a little crisply. “When have _you_ last run from a fight?”

 _A lynel in the Eldin mountains about a month ago,_ he replies immediately.

“Really?” Zelda has literally never seen Link run from a fight in the entire time she’s known him. They once had a whole conversation about it, even. He was bleeding at the time.

 _Yeah._ He makes eye contact and shrugs. _I_ **_can_ ** _kill a lynel. I’ve done it plenty of times, but it’s dangerous and it takes forever and sometimes I just cannot be fucking bothered because I have better shit to do. Rule number one is: You win one hundred percent of the fights you don’t have._ Link’s hands still and he searches her face for a moment. _Do you understand?_

“Yes.” She does. Zelda thinks she probably has more experience running from battles than most people, since it’s all she used to do. It’s not that she’s eager to risk her safety, it’s that she’s tired of watching Link risk _his_. He seems to be waiting for more of an answer, so she adds, “I understand, Link. I will not rush into a battle if I can possibly avoid it.”

His nod is sharp, and she’s reminded that he was on track to be captain of the guard someday, back before destiny intervened. _Good. Next question: What do you think I should train you on?_

This is going to be a trick question as well, Zelda can tell already. “Short swords or daggers. Something lightweight and easy for me to control, since I haven’t developed a lot of upper body strength yet.”

 _Logical._ The flash of a grin, gone almost too fast to see it. _But wrong. Why do you think that is?_

She bites her lip. “Because you don’t actually want me _in_ a fight?”

Link snorts. _I mean… yes, but that’s not actually why._ He goes to his pack and removes a Korok sword, offering it to her hilt-first. Zelda takes it and hefts it, getting a feel for the weight. It’s light and comfortable to hold, about as long as her forearm and hand together. Link pulls out the Master Sword, still sheathed, and rests his hands on the pommel, the tip of it upright in the grass.

“Hit me.”

Zelda narrows her eyes at him again. “Is this the scene in the hero’s story where he goes to the old master and asks to be trained, and the old master throws him on his ass to teach him respect and restraint?”

“I promise I won’t throw you on your ass, Princess,” Link says, his eyes dancing. “You won’t hurt me. Go on, try to hit me with that.” He jerks his chin at the wooden sword in her hand, and Zelda knows there’s no getting out of this. She arranges herself the way she’s seen him stand, her body sideways to his to present a smaller target, knees slightly bent for power and maneuverability, sword up, off hand floating, ready to grab or grapple. At least he’s not laughing at her yet. No way out but through, so she gathers herself and lunges, going for a straightforward jab at his ribs--

Before she can blink the tip of the sheathed Master Sword is at her sternum, preventing her forward movement, and her Korok sword is still a good foot away from Link. He’s not even stretching to keep her back, he’s just standing there, relaxed, the hilt of the sword in one hand and his eyes soft. They lock gazes for a long moment, the only sound the breeze and the distant whickering of the horses. Zelda thinks she’s never seen him look quite so focused.

“Reach,” Link says simply, tapping the tip of the sheath against her skin. He steps back and lowers the sword, leaning it against his leg so he can sign, _Short people are at a natural disadvantage when it comes to reach. You could theoretically still win in a fight against an opponent with a longer reach, but it requires you to be willing to try to get inside their guard and then hit hard before you disengage. It’s unnecessarily risky._

“I see,” Zelda says, still a little shaken. She didn’t even see him _move_. “What do you suggest I train in, then?”

 _There’s no_ **_suggest_** _,_ Link responds immediately, his movements brusque. _I will train you in what I decide is appropriate and you will do as I say so you_ **_stay alive_** _. I swore an oath to protect you and I don’t intend to violate that oath, Princess. This is not a discussion. I am in charge here._ He fixes her with the most quietly furious look she’s ever seen. _Do you understand?_

“I understand.” If his words didn’t do it, the deadly serious look on his face would make his case for him. Link looks carved from granite, so hard and focused she thinks he might be able to crush her into a diamond. He stares at her for another long, silent moment and finally nods sharply.

 _We’re going to train spear work and archery,_ he tells her. _You’re right that I don’t want you in a fight at all, but I know from experience telling you no is the worst way to keep you from doing something so I have to settle for the next best thing, which is keeping you as far away from the other weapons as possible._

“This is a technique I am in favor of as well,” Zelda says, handing him back the Korok sword. “Where do we start?”

With a lot of boring fucking drills, as it turns out. Zelda wasn’t really expecting much else, though she did have a vague vision of getting to stab at a stuffed dummy or something. Instead she holds the Korok spear Link pulled out of the pack (and that’ll never get old as long as she lives, watching him casually remove things from there that should never, ever fit inside it) and drives it forward in the same motion, over and over. Link circles her and barks orders and occasionally taps one finger on her elbow or hip to correct her form. It takes her thirty solid minutes of work before he finally smiles and signs, _That looks good. The power is coming from the right place._

“Thank you,” Zelda pants between sips from the waterskin, flushed with sweat and praise.

The smile suddenly shows another tooth. _Now do it again on the other side._

Zelda stoppers the waterskin and glares at him, but there’s no real heat to it. She asked for this, she reminds herself as she re-adjusts with her left arm forward. There’s no point in complaining about something she asked for.

“Tighter core,” Link says, leaning in to poke her stomach just under her ribs, and Zelda grits her teeth. No. Point. She lunges, stabbing an invisible enemy who might happen to have choppy golden hair.

“Again.” Zelda tosses a glance his way, and Link smiles back cheerfully. “Better this time.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Zelda snaps, and lunges again.

Zelda’s arms are cooked noodles by the time they’re done, sore in parts of her abs previously unknown to her. Sweat has plastered strings of hair to her face and she can feel sore spots on her hands that will eventually turn into calluses. Underneath the exhaustion, though, there’s the glow of exertion and a sense of satisfaction. She coasts on that satisfaction while she fills the tub in the bathing room (heated with another Flameblade, because Link is ridiculous) and scrubs up. When she emerges, well-soaked and pink-faced, he has dinner on the table. There’s even a vase with wildflowers in it, and she melts into her seat on the bench with a grin. Link raises an eyebrow at her as he dishes up the soup and she tilts her head at the vase.

“Oh,” he says, ducking his head and flushing. “I thought they were nice.” He looks up at her through his lashes, and it hits her, again, that this is his _home_ , and he brought her here without it even being a question.

“They’re lovely, Link,” she says, taking her bowl with a smile. “Your whole home is lovely.” He flushes again, color creeping across his cheeks and ears, and takes a bite of his soup so he doesn’t have to try and answer. Zelda takes pity on him (and also on her ravenous stomach) and picks up her spoon.

It’s different, preparing for bed like this. Link knows where everything is, wandering from place to place in a path that looks aimless but makes perfect sense to him. Zelda feels like an interloper, having to pause every few steps to remember where she unpacked. The bed continues to intrude on her thoughts--it’s one thing to share a bedroll in a tent, or a rented bed in an inn, but this feels different, somehow. Is she intruding? Does he actually want her in his bed, even if it’s just to sleep? She drags her feet going up the stairs after him, the worries itching her brain like a tiny pebble in her shoe. When she reaches the loft, it’s to find Link already in bed, under the covers, the only light from the lamp on the bedside table next to him. He looks so golden and soft in the lamplight, white sheets around him like a halo, and she pauses with one foot still on the stairs. It’s like a painting, somehow, so delicate she can almost see the brush strokes.

“Princess?” Link asks, pushing up to his elbows. “Are you coming?”

Zelda says nothing, tongue-tied for reasons she can’t quite explain, and takes a few more slow steps across the room. She can’t figure out how to put into words what her issue is, because she can’t quite figure out the issue in the first place. Link watches her come, eyes on her face, studying her expression. His face goes soft, his mouth a little wry, and he pulls the blankets back.

“Come on, Princess,” he says, patting the sheet next to him. “Don’t make this weird.”

She sighs and rubs a hand over her face. “It is a little weirder, though, right?” she asks, climbing in next to him and extinguishing the lamp.

“A little,” he admits, resting a hand on her waist, the only contact between their bodies. “But I assumed you’d manage to logic your way through it.”

“I’m _trying_ ,” Zelda huffs, and squirms closer, until he gets the idea and curls around her, spooning against her back. “There you go, Princess,” he says encouragingly, patting her on the shoulder. “You did it.”

“Stop calling me Princess,” she mutters, turning her face into the pillow just in case he can see her smile in the darkness. “And make crepes for breakfast tomorrow.”

His amused breath huffs against the back of her neck. “I live to serve, Princess,” he says, and Zelda smiles again and presses a little closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, immediately upon seeing Link's house: THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED


	11. Chapter 11

Zelda wakes up to an empty bed and the smell of crepes. It takes her a moment to remember where she is, the beams of the ceiling unfamiliar and the mattress slightly wrong. She hears Link’s off-key humming, floating up into the loft, and remembers: She’s in Link’s house. She’s in Link’s _bed_. She’s in Hateno, and she’s free, and she can tell she’s going to be very sore in a few hours. Zelda rolls over, toward the window, and buries her face in Link’s pillow. Her constant desire to sniff her knight might become a problem, but at least the pillow can’t tell on her.

Wait. Zelda lifts her head and squints at Link’s side of the bed, and how it butts up against the wall. She slept on the outside, and yet he’s not still in bed. Link must have had to climb out over the foot of the bed to avoid disturbing her when he escaped. It’s mildly insulting that he doesn’t want to cuddle in the mornings, but good goddesses, if he’s going to be that much of an early riser then they should just move the damn bed over so he doesn’t have to engage in ridiculous blanket contortions. Oh, the crepes smell _really_ good, and as much as Zelda wants to stay curled up here to soak in Link, she wants to eat crepes more, so: covers back, feet on the floor, down the stairs. He looks up at her, a dusting of flour on one cheek, a spatula in his hand, and Zelda wants to kiss him so badly she can taste it. Instead, she sits down at the table and folds her hands. _Control._

After breakfast they head up to see Purah. Link offers to saddle up the horses but Zelda wants to walk, which also gives her a chance to get to know Hateno a little better. Link points out the shops as they go and tells her the occasional story of something funny that happened on one of his multiple trips here. It’s early enough that the streets are nearly empty, though a few of the farmers are already afield. Zelda has been in the village less than a full day and she’s already willing to take on the Calamity again, singlehanded, in order to protect it. _Mine,_ she thinks, brushing her fingers over a stone lantern as they climb the hill. It’s all hers, in her heart and her bones, and nothing will threaten it again.

Halfway up the hill Zelda starts regretting the choice to walk instead of ride. “This is my cardio for today, yes?” she asks Link, who looks like he’s out for a casual stroll. _Might be,_ he signs with a shrug. _You’d better speed up if you want it to count._

“Are you like this with everyone you train?” she pants, speeding up her legs by maybe another couple seconds and feeling the burn all the way up into her lower back.

 _No. You’re special._ Link grins and winks at her. Zelda struggles for breath and it has nothing to do with the incline.

Finally, a hundred horrible, uphill steps later, they reach the lighthouse that apparently serves as Purah’s lab now. Zelda bends double, her hands on her thighs, and tries to stop sweating by power of will alone. “How does she go out for supplies?” she asks the ground, gratefully accepting the waterskin Link hands her. “How would you get supplies back up this hill without dying?”

“She doesn’t exactly go out these days,” Link says, with an unnecessary air of mystery. She frowns at him as she hands the waterskin back, and he just shrugs. “You’ll see what I mean in a minute.” He doesn’t bother to knock, casually yanking open the door like he lives there, and Zelda follows him in with just a bit of nervousness.

The mess and clutter is familiar. Every surface has a stack of books or papers or both on it, the whole place one sneeze away from utter disaster. The child standing on a chair is _not_ familiar, though she’s obviously Sheikah, and Zelda blinks at her. Did Purah have a child? No, if this is somehow Purah’s child then that would mean the woman gave birth at over a hundred. Is this a grandchild? That doesn’t seem right, either, because the Purah that Zelda remembers showed no interest in anything that wasn’t her research, so she can’t really imagine her ever having children in the first place.

“Heyyyyyy, Linky!” the child calls, looking up from her notebook. “Been awhile! I heard there was some action down at the Castle! You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” Zelda blinks, again, because she may not have spent a lot of time around small children, but she’s pretty sure they don’t normally have a vocabulary this advanced. The girl’s focus slides past Link to Zelda, her crimson eyes framed by a large pair of round glasses. Eyes that Zelda finds familiar… Eyes that she _recognizes._

“Princess Zelda!” child-Purah cries, right as Zelda blurts, “What the _fuck_ , Purah?!” Twin snorts of amusement draw her attention, one from Link and one from a Sheikah man in the corner of the room she hadn’t noticed previously. Purah recovers first, blinking those big eyes behind her glasses. “You’ve certainly never said _that_ to me before. How do I know you’re the real Zelda?”

“One time you were eating a sandwich while you were working on a translation, and I watched you reach for the sandwich without looking, pick up a book, and try to take a bite out of the book before you noticed what you’d done,” Zelda replies immediately. “Also, Link and I defeated Calamity Ganon together, so…”

Purah stares at her for another calculating minute and nods. “Yep, checks out. I’m convinced.” She opens her tiny arms (what the _fuck_ ) and says, “Come on, Princess, this hug is a hundred years overdue!”

Zelda submits to the hug, weird as it is, and gets introduced to Purah’s assistant Symin. Link assists the man as they bustle about making tea and Zelda gives Purah a very abbreviated run-down on what it was like to be Hylia and hold back the Calamity for a century. By the time the tea is done they’ve moved on to the highlights of Purah’s research for the last hundred years.

“And I’m pleased to report that my work on the anti-aging rune led to effective implementation!” Purah says with huge gesticulations. “The issue is that it was rather _too_ effective, hence…” She indicates herself with a shrug of her tiny child shoulders.

“Well, maybe we could go over your notes together and see if we can find where it went wrong,” Zelda offers. “It can’t hurt, at least.”

“Oooh, Zelly.” Purah reaches across the table and grabs her hand, eyes bright. “It’s so good to have you back. Are you joining me at the lab again? I definitely want detailed check-ins about your adjustment back to physical existence.”

“I’ll bring you my journal,” Zelda promises, toying with the handle of her mug. “I’ll be around but I won’t be dedicating my time to the lab just yet. I need to spend time traveling with Link first, to learn about Hyrule.”

“Oh,” Purah says, waving a hand dismissively. “Hyrule. It’s the same as it ever was, except for how it’s completely different.” She pauses and squints somewhere past Zelda’s head. “Okay, actually, now that I say that out loud, I see your point. Traveling it is.”

Link clears his throat politely to get their attention and signs, _Actually, speaking of traveling: Purah? I was wondering what it would take for the slate to teleport two people at once._

Purah blinks. “It shouldn’t take _anything!_ ” she says, as if it’s obvious. “The slate is already perfectly capable of that, Linky!”

Link and Zelda exchange a look that communicates both their surprise and their skepticism. _Have you tested it?_ Link asks, and Zelda also wants to know the answer to that question.

“Well, no,” Purah admits, cutting a hand through the air like she’s slicing away their argument, “but if you look at the problem logically there’s no reason why you and Zelda shouldn’t be able to travel at once. Here, give the slate to Symin.”

The Sheikah man startles slightly at being addressed, almost spilling his tea, but accepts the slate from Link as if he’s used to Purah (and Zelda figures he probably is).

“Symin, teleport to the gate outside the lab.”

Symin sighs hugely, taps the slate, and disappears in a swirl of blue light and a strange hum. A minute later the front door swings open and he staggers inside, hands out for balance. “That,” he says, leaning on the back of a chair and breathing hard, “is extremely disorienting.”

Purah ignores him and turns back to Link. “Symin is at least fifty pounds heavier than you--it’s not an insult, Symin, you’re sturdy and Link is tiny, that’s just facts--and the slate teleported him just fine. If the Hero of Legend had come back as a big hulking dude, six and a half feet tall with legs like tree trunks, the slate would be capable of teleporting our hypothetical Big Hero, even if he weighed twice as much as you. Or if we lent the slate to a Gerudo woman, one of the really muscular ones--”

Everyone in the room has a moment of distracted silence at that idea.

“--the slate would teleport her, and some of those ladies weigh three hundred pounds, easy.” Purah turns to Zelda and adds, conspiratorially, “The muscle weighs more, you know.”

 _But the slate transporting one large person isn’t the same as transporting two separate people, even if it’s transporting the same amount of weight,_ Link argues.

“Are you your clothes?” Purah counters. “Are you the pack on your back? If the slate was only transporting the _person_ , you’d arrive naked and weaponless every time you teleported. I believe it to be a function of both physical proximity and intent.”

“So if I’m holding on to Link when he teleports, and he concentrates us traveling together, it should work?” Zelda asks, trying to distill Purah’s argument down to its simplest form.

“That’s the idea!” Purah grins and takes out a notebook, pen poised over the page. “Go on! Give it a try!”

 _I am absolutely not risking the Princess’s safety without adequate testing first,_ Link informs Purah, sitting back with crossed arms and a level glare when he’s done signing. She sighs and puts down her notebook. “You’re such a spoilsport, Linky. Fine. Symin!”

Symin (who took advantage of Purah’s distraction to slink back to the table and return to his cup of tea) looks up with a flat face. “Yes, Director?”

“Go get--” Purah looks at Zelda, doing some mental math “--one hundred and fifty pounds of potatoes out of the storeroom.”

“Yes, Director,” Symin says, resigned, and pushes back from the table.

They spend an hour or so experimenting with Link and several bushels of potatoes (which he helped Symin carry out of the storeroom in the back, because he’s noble like that). Purah loads him down with bags and makes him teleport to various shrines, then piles up the bags and makes him teleport while sort of draped over them. “Well, the potatoes can’t really stand up so he can hug them,” she explains to Zelda while they wait for Link and a bunch of root vegetables to re-materialize. “So we’re doing the best we can to simulate that.”

The results of the Grand Potato Research Trials are conclusive: The Sheikah slate will transport Link and whatever amount of potatoes are in contact with his body, as long as he’s concentrating on it. If he’s not concentrating, it will teleport whatever amount of potatoes he’s currently holding. It’s promising data, but when Purah suggests he try teleporting with Zelda he flatly refuses because, “The Princess isn’t potatoes, Purah!” Purah and Symin immediately start debating the ethics of attempting to teleport with a live animal of some kind. Several minutes into the conversation about borrowing a sheep from one of the farmers down the hill (“Director, they already think we’re weird, I can’t just stroll up and say ‘I need one of your sheep for science!’”) Link hisses out an annoyed breath between his teeth and jabs at the slate. The blue lights swirl and he disappears, leaving behind an argument about sheep that shows no signs of stopping and a slightly confused Zelda. After a moment she shrugs and wanders to the bookshelves, running her fingers over the spines as she looks for something interesting to occupy her until Link gets back.

“Okay, so maybe we just buy the sheep and keep it as a pet,” Purah says to Symin, who throws his hands up in capitulation. “Linky, we need you to buy a sheep--” The Sheikah girl/woman turns to find Zelda casually paging through a book on Guardians. “Where’s Link?”

“He teleported out maybe five minutes ago,” Zelda says, taking a sip of her now-cold tea. “I rather got the impression he was planning to do his own research on the subject.”

Purah frowns. “Well, I hope he takes detailed notes, or my conclusions will be faulty.”

“Ironically,” Zelda says, “he has a good memory.” She turns another page. “For current events, at least.”

Purah glares at the door for another minute, clearly put out by research being done outside her field of vision, and finally turns back to Zelda. “Well, while we’re waiting, do you want to see the research notes I have about the Sheikah slate and the runes?”

Zelda snaps the book shut. “Absolutely I do.”

The door swings open some twenty minutes later and Zelda looks up from Purah’s notebook at a rather more rumpled Link than the one that left. There’s a smudge of dirt on his temple, his hair mussed and his breathing a bit labored. He strides over to the table and slaps down the slate on top of a pile of books. “It should work,” he says, flatly, and heads toward the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

“What did you do?” Zelda asks.

“Yes, tell me in great detail so I can write it down,” Purah adds, pen poised over paper.

Link holds up one finger at them, throat working as he drains his glass of water, and wanders back over. _I traveled to a shrine where I knew I could find a bokoblin nest and waited for one to notice me. Then, when it attacked me, I put it in a headlock and traveled to a different shrine. It was unharmed, though extremely displeased by the experience._ He runs his hands through his hair, pulling out the tie, finger combs it a couple of times, and ties it back up in his usual ponytail. _We can definitely teleport with two people. I can’t imagine the slate would let me teleport with a bokoblin and not the Princess._

“What did you do with the bokoblin?” Zelda asks, curious. Link rubs the back of his neck and glances away. _I knocked it out and took it back to the original shrine so I could leave it somewhere it would be able to find the others._ He gives Zelda a bashful look and admits, _I kinda felt bad for experimenting on it. It seemed fair._

Oh, this gentle boy of hers. Zelda steels her face against the rush of emotion that wants to pour across it and instead nods solemnly. “Makes sense to me.”

“This is all fascinating,” Purah cuts in, bouncing up and down with excitement, “but the important thing is now you can test traveling with Zelly! Come on! Stop delaying! I’m ready to write my conclusion!”

Link looks at Zelda with a quietly desperate twitch of his eyebrows and she smothers a smile. Purah can, indeed, be a little much, even for those that love her and share her ardent passion for research. “How best do you suggest we arrange ourselves?” Zelda asks, pushing back from the table.

 _I’m not putting the Princess in a headlock,_ Link signs, deadpan, as he crosses over and picks up the slate again.

“I would definitely not advise a headlock,” Purah says, looking at her notes from their previous potato experiments. “It looks like we got the best results with as much bodily contact as possible, so I suggest really snuggling up on each other.”

Zelda immediately flashes back to curling into Link’s body the night before, pressed back against him from shoulders to heels. A quick glance at her partner in sleep shows the sort of half-panicked look that tells her he’s thinking the same thing and trying very hard not to. Zelda forces herself not to blush and strides over, businesslike. “Face to face means we can hold on to each other as we teleport and you can still see the slate,” she says, as though they didn’t spend most of her first day back clutching each other like they never intended to let go. Link nods stoically and holds out his arms.

Logically, Zelda knows this is no different from any of the other embraces they’ve shared so far. Frankly, it’s _less_ intimate, being as they’re both fully clothed, not in a bed, and not desperate for support in either an emotional or a physical capacity. It _feels_ , however, wildly different to wrap her arms around Link’s neck while Purah watches avidly. The warmth of his body against hers is something new when it’s in the daylight, in a somewhat-public situation. Zelda tucks her chin over his shoulder and tightens her arms, keeping the color out of her cheeks with an effort of will that could only be described as heroic. “Ready,” she says, like her heart doesn’t want to fly out of her chest like a hummingbird.

Link’s arms come around her back, pulling her another inch closer. “Relax, Princess,” he breathes in her ear, too quietly for the others to hear. “I’ve done this a whole once. I’m basically an expert.”

“Monster,” she whispers back, just before the blue lights take her. Zelda--

_Flies in a thousand directions like dandelion seeds blown on the wind._

_Arches across the mountain sky in a ribbon of light, undulating and curving in crackling stillness._

_Rushes down a hundred rivers, bubbling over rocks._

_Speedsparksdangerdarknesslight._

Zelda blinks against the sun and the blue of the sky, her hands fisted in the back of Link’s tunic, her forehead pressed into his neck. He smells like salt and leather and fresh grass, same as always, and before she can stop herself she buries her nose in his collar and inhales a lungful.

“Hey,” he says from under her cheek, his arms still snug around her back. “I was going to clean up tonight, you don’t have to sniff me to check if I’m due for a bath.”

That is not at all what she was doing, but she takes the out. “People go nose-dead to their own odors,” she informs him, lifting her head so she can make eye contact. “I’m doing you a favor.” Zelda blinks and focuses past him, on the mountains in the distance and the ancient furnace. They’re outside the lab, on the stone circle, glowing runes beneath their feet. “Oh,” she says, feeling a little silly. “It worked!”

“It did,” Link confirms, shoulders going relaxed underneath her arms. He smiles at her, soft and fresh as a new day. One of his hands slides up to cup her head, and she wonders if he realizes he’s doing it. Delicately, like she might shatter, he leans in and touches his forehead to hers. “I’m going to take you _everywhere,_ ” he promises.

“I can’t wait,” she says, giddy. Goddesses, she wants to kiss him, and he’s so close and warm, all she’d have to do is lean forward a few inches and tip her head. She’s close enough she can almost feel it, his breath tingling over her lips and up and down her spine. Should she do it? She thinks she's going to do it.

“IT WORKED!” yells child-Purah from the door of the lab, destroying the moment as effectively as though she’d thrown a plate onto a stone floor. Zelda and Link do not spring apart, blushing and stammering and confirming the mildly compromising nature of their embrace. Instead they extricate themselves calmly and efficiently, and when Zelda eyes him sidelong it’s to find the tips of his ears a bit pink but his face otherwise composed. “That’s great,” Purah continues, taking furious notes. “I had some doubts about whether it would work if you didn’t hold on with your legs, too, but I’m glad to see those were unfounded.”

“What, like piggyback?” Zelda asks, exactly as Link blurts, “You had _doubts?!_ ”

Purah blinks behind her giant glasses. “Of course! Nothing’s ever one hundred percent. You’ve been around the lab enough to know that, Linky!”

“I do not fucking _remember_ being around the lab enough to know that, Purah!” Link snaps, taking half a step toward her, his body rigid. “You let me endanger Zelda when you weren’t sure it would _work?_ ”

“Oh,” Purah says, a little softer. “Oh, Linky, no! You’d have either not teleported at all or teleported and left Zelda behind, that’s all. Nothing in our testing indicated there would be a partial teleport, or any risk of bodily injury.” She pauses and taps her chin with her pen. “Unless you teleported into a shrine right as a tree fell over on it, or something, though I don’t know how we’d test that, there are so many variables...” Purah starts taking more notes, designing what Zelda presumes is some kind of wild experiment that will never see the light of day, and wanders back into the lab. Link is still quietly furious, tension in the line of his shoulders, and Zelda steps closer and takes his hand.

“It worked,” she reminds him, squeezing his fingers. “I’m fine. It seems like there wasn’t any real danger.” Link shuts his eyes, inhaling in through his nose and out through his mouth, one long, deep breath. “Okay,” he says as his lashes flutter back open. “Okay. I just… I swore an _oath_.”

“And you’ve never broken it.” Zelda squeezes his hand again, and after a moment he squeezes back. “Oh, thank Hylia,” she says, struck by a sudden thought. “We’re never going to need to walk up that hill again.”

“You will if you want me to keep training you,” Link says immediately, and Zelda deflates. “Fine,” she says, tugging him after her back into the lab. “But I’m going to complain the whole time.”

“I accept your terms,” Link deadpans, and Zelda bites her lip to smother a grin.

They eat lunch there, Zelda and Purah with their heads ducked close together as they page through notebooks of research, Link and Symin occasionally handing over a cup of tea or a slice of bread or a napkin. When Zelda and Link walk back through Hateno it’s early afternoon and the streets are, again, full of people, people whose names she gets to learn this time. The dye shop is fascinating (Zelda has so many questions about the chemical compositions) and the work of the tailor is excellent, even if her commitment to standing in a single corner is a bit bewildering. They stop in at the general store to buy some provisions for the house (though apparently Link’s pack not only stores massive amounts of food, but keeps it fresh as well) and stroll back through the model homes and across the bridge like they do it every day.

Link leaves her to her own devices for a bit, so Zelda does her journaling and, when that’s complete, pulls out the green dress and her embroidery floss. She gets through the foliage on a safflina and is trying to decide which variety she wants it to be when the door swings open. Link sticks his head in, face flushed with exertion, and shoots her a smile. _Change into something you can move in and meet me outside._

The trousers she’s wearing are fine, but she changes into a lighter tunic because she has a strong feeling whatever Link has planned will be sweaty. When she joins him, it’s to find he’s hauled up several bales of hay and arranged them butting up against the hill. Each one is painted with a target, and Zelda’s fingers itch. _Archery_. She’s been looking forward to this.

 _We’ll be focusing on form and accuracy today,_ Link tells her. _I’m starting you on a lighter bow so you can actually get a good draw. As you develop skills and strength I’ll move you up to something more powerful. The lighter bow means less range, so if for some Hylia-forsaken reason we end up in a fight before I move you up to the stronger bow, I want you shooting from cover at all times._ He pauses to fix her with that serious, stern look. _Do you understand?_

“I understand,” Zelda says immediately. “I think you’re overestimating my desire to be shot at.”

The corner of Link’s mouth ticks up. _Forgive me, Princess. I’ve trained a lot of hotheaded fifteen year old boys in my time._

“And when you were training them, you were the incredibly advanced and mature age of…?” Zelda asks, arching an eyebrow.

His cheek dimples. _Nineteen. Practically ancient._

“It’s amazing you were able to train them at all, what with your creaky old man body,” Zelda agrees. They share a grin, and she clasps her hands, solemn again. “I promise, Link, I am taking your warnings to heart. I just want to be able to _help._ ”

 _I know,_ he tells her with a sigh. _I’m trying._ Links runs a hand through his bangs, back over his hair, and gives his head a little shake. “Okay,” he says, picking up a wooden bow and waving her over. “Let’s get started.”

He straps a bracer on her forearm before they do anything else, and she sees why when he demonstrates the draw, bowstring snapping against his sleeve with a twang. Next she strings and unstrings the bow, over and over, until she can do it smoothly if not _nearly_ as quickly as him. Link talks her through the basics, the parts of the bow and the arrow, the best ways to make them work together. Then he puts her in front of the targets and tells her to draw.

“Okay,” he says, with just the tiniest wince. “Okay, I see.”

Link makes her draw again and again and _again_ , tapping her elbow or her hand, gripping her shoulders to turn her upper body just so, telling her which specific muscle groups she should be engaging. Zelda tries, she really, really does, but she has to think about the bow and the string and where the arrow goes and the exact right places to push and pull and keep her core strong and plant her feet and have the right amount of twist to her waist and he wants her to do all of that at _once_ , while she’s still struggling with the amount of strength it takes to draw the bowstring properly. After about the fiftieth adjustment her frustration gets the better of her.

“I’m _sorry,_ ” she says, rounding on him with the bow in her hands. “I am _trying_ , but there are so many things you’re telling me at once and I don’t even understand half of what you’re asking me to do!” Zelda sighs and runs one hand over her face. “Do you have a smaller bow? Perhaps one designed for a literal child to use? Maybe I could use that one.”

 _I do not have a child’s bow,_ Link tells her, his face gentle. _I know I’m being nitpicky, and I’m sorry it sucks. I just want to teach you good habits from the beginning. It’s much harder to break bad habits later._ He sets his hands on his hips and frowns at her for a moment, considering. _Okay, turn around. I have an idea._

Zelda turns and settles herself into the stance he’s tried to teach her, breathing deeply to calm herself. She needs every inch of calm she was able to snatch, because Link steps up behind her to press against her back. “Okay, Princess,” he says in a low voice, so near her ear tingles with the proximity, “follow along.” His hands cover hers, their bodies touching literally from her fingertips down to her toes, and it’s only years of court training that allows Zelda to keep her breathing even.

“So, your weight should be…” he says, shifting his feet and pushing his hips against hers to adjust her positioning, and it’s not actually suggestive at all except that all Zelda can think about is his hips pressed against hers in other contexts. She bites the inside of her cheek and moves where he puts her and ignores the heat pulsing between her legs.

“Great,” says that low voice next to her ear, and Zelda clenches hard on nothing, trying to pay attention. “Do you feel how much more stable that is?” No, Zelda feels distinctly _unstable_ , held up only by the hard planes of Link’s body. She nods. “Great,” he says again. “So, when you draw, you want the motion to feel like _this._ ” He moves her hands for her, drawing the bowstring and aiming down the non-existent arrow at the target. “Do you feel how that’s different?”

Zelda feels a lot of fucking things right now, none of which she’s willing to admit to out loud. Hylia save her, he’s just so warm and strong and she’s literally in his arms and at his mercy right now, flushed and wet from an _archery lesson_. She has it _bad._ She swallows and drags her brain back to the actual task at hand. “I’m not entirely sure,” she says, quite honestly. “Show me again?”

He does, and what she can absorb through her fog of inappropriate arousal actually makes sense, especially when he moves her through the correct draw and then through the draw she was using. There is a difference, a more efficient quality of movement that lets the work happen with less effort, not to mention Link’s taking most of the work of the actual draw into his arms, allowing Zelda to concentrate on getting the motion correct. (It is, also, horrifically erotic, on account of how it requires them to move together in a particularly repetitive way that has Zelda’s heartbeat pounding in her clit. Fuck. _Fuck._ )

“Okay,” Link says a few excruciating minutes later, when Zelda thinks she may have gotten the hang of it, and also is about thirty seconds away from grinding back against his groin in an attempt to take some of the pressure off, “I’m going to let you do most of the work on this one. I’ll just correct your form if you need it.” Zelda nods, takes a firm grip on the bow and also on her self control, and draws. It’s still physically difficult, and there’s a lot to concentrate on, but it feels better, smoother, _stronger_ now. (The animal part in the back of her brain has a lot of ideas about other things that would feel better right now, and Zelda ignores it valiantly.) “Great,” Link says into her ear. “That’s excellent, you didn’t need me at all.” (Oh, she needs him, all right.) “Release the bowstring.”

Zelda does.

It snaps against the outside of her right breast.

Zelda _shrieks_ and throws the bow.

“ _Fuck!_ ” she yells, both hands clamped over her chest. “Hylia’s golden _ass_ , Link! My fucking tit!” She stomps in a circle and kicks the grass, like that will help. Holy Triforce on a mountain, it hurts. There’s going to be a bruise. She’s going to have a fucking _bruised tit._

“Oh no!” Link blurts, hands hovering over her like he wants to help and doesn’t know how. “Oh, Princess, fuck, I’m so sorry! I forgot! I should have bought you armor!”

“Hhhraaaaaanng,” Zelda groans at the ground, rubbing her breast to try and distract herself from the sting. At least it snapped her out of her lust-addled fever dream. She no longer wants to pounce on her knight, she wants to _punch_ him.

“What do you need?” Link’s asking, frantic. “Ice? An elixir? What can I _do?_ ” Oh, the poor thing, he’s really very worried, isn’t he? Zelda looks up from the ground to find him fretting, eyebrows drawn together, hands still fidgeting with the need to assist. Her annoyance fades, replaced by a soft fondness.

“I think mostly I need some kind of breastplate,” she says, giving herself an experimental sort of pat. “There’s no permanent damage, but that’s an experience I don’t care to repeat.”

“Are you sure?” He grabs her shoulders, examining her face for any lingering discomfort. “We can stop for the day if you want.”

“I’m sure. I want to get to actually _fire_ an arrow.” Zelda pauses, adding, “Unless that wasn’t going to be part of today’s lesson?”

“No, it definitely was,” Link says, still looking her over, eyes occasionally dropping to her breasts to check for injuries and then darting back up to her face when he realizes what he’s doing. “Okay, if you’re sure, I think we can rig something up.”

Zelda ends up in a cropped leather vest with fur trim, an armor piece she hasn’t seen Link wear previously. “Where’s the rest of it?” she asks, drawing the bow again to test the proximity to her body. Link mutters something that sounds like, “There is no rest of it,” and hands her a quiver of arrows. Fortunately (or unfortunately), he deems her draw good enough to no longer need his hands-on instruction, and settles himself behind her right shoulder.

“You’ll aim with one eye, primarily,” he tells her, “but keep both eyes open. Eyes on the target. Nock the arrow and draw in the same motion. Ideally you fire on the exhale.” Zelda can hear the smile in his voice when he adds, “Go on, give it a _shot._ ”

“That barely counts as a pun,” she tells him, focusing on the painted bale of hay she’s going to attempt to kill. Right hand behind the shoulder, find the arrow, lift up and out to bring it around to the string, nock it, both arms move for the draw, core strong, sight down the line of the arrow--

_TWANG!_

The bowstring vibrates with an audible hum, and it _didn’t_ hit her in the tit, and she’s no longer holding an arrow. Emboldened by this success, Zelda looks at the target to find absolutely nothing.

“You went too high,” Link says. “Again.”

The next arrow is too low. The following arrow is too high again. The fourth arrow clips the bales, well wide of the target. After that, though, Zelda starts to get her eye in. By the time she’s gone through the whole quiver, her arrows consistently hit the hay, and more than half end up in the target. They’re still nowhere near hitting the bulls-eye except from sheer luck, but she has a feel for it now. After the last arrow thwips from her bow to sink into the outer painted ring, Link drops a hand on her shoulder and squeezes. “You’re doing great,” he says with real pride. “We’ll make an archer out of you yet.”

“Thank you,” Zelda says, flushed with pride and exertion and a little lingering arousal. She smiles at the target with satisfaction for a long moment, mentally picking out particular arrows and how it felt to shoot them. After that little basking session, she shakes herself, switches the bow to her other hand, and alters her stance.

“What are you doing?” Link asks, an edge of suspicion in his voice.

Zelda bats her eyelashes at him guilelessly. “You’re going to tell me to do the other side now, aren’t you?”

He steps around so he can narrow his eyes at her. _You take all the fun out of it if I don’t get to say it,_ he complains, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

“I’m just being proactive,” she says primly, and draws the bow.

To her mingled disappointment and relief, Link doesn’t need to use the hands-on approach this time. (To her actual, intense relief, she doesn’t hit herself in the tit with a bowstring again.) Shooting with the opposite side is incredibly more awkward, but she figures it out faster, managing to get almost the entire quiver of arrows into the hay, even if more of them are wide of the target. Link is a cruel, cruel man, and makes her run spear drills after they’ve finished with archery. She will never have shoulders that don’t hurt again in her _entire life_. Zelda misses not having a body. One hundred years without a muscle knot sounds great right about now.

“I’m glad your house came with a dedicated bathing room,” she tells Link as they troop back inside, her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. “If I had to drag a washtub into the kitchen every time we trained I would be less enthusiastic about said training.”

“Oh, when you told me you hoped keese nested in my hair and ate my head, that was you being enthusiastic?” Link grins and dodges her swipe, ducking into the kitchen and waving her off. Zelda heads upstairs on shaky legs to grab a change of clothes and her toiletries before heading into said bathing room. The door swings shut behind her with a click and Zelda throws the bolt with calm hands, leaving her with actual privacy for the first time all day. She gets the water going for sound cover, rinses her hands, and shoves one down her trousers without preamble.

 _Fuck_. Gods. She can still feel Link against her back, his body pressed to hers without a whisper of air between them. In this version of events, his hands slide slowly from hers, up her arms, down onto her torso, one resting on her hip and the other on her ribcage just below her breast. “You’re doing great,” he says against her ear, then presses a kiss just below it. Zelda shivers and feels him smile against her skin. “You like this, don’t you?” he asks, his voice a low rumble she can feel in her back, and slides his hands up and down, one cupping her breast and the other firm between her legs. “I can feel how hot you are.” The hand between her legs presses harder, rolling a circle around her clit through her trousers and underthings and sending a jolt of wet heat up her spine. Zelda whines, deep in her throat, and rocks her hips into his hand. (In the real world she doesn’t make a sound except for her increasingly ragged breathing, acutely aware of the actual Link on the other side of the door.)

“Mmm,” fantasy-Link says, pressing another kiss to her neck. “I thought so.” The pressure on her pussy disappears, and she whines again, but his hands are moving, pulling up her tunic, untucking her chemise, and unlacing her trousers. When he touches her this time it’s properly, hands against skin, and he slides one up under the tunic to cup her breast. His thumb circles her nipple (she decided she’s not wearing breast wraps in this) and Zelda whimpers and writhes while he slowly, _slowly_ inches the other one down her stomach, into her unlaced trousers. He teases at the edge of her underthings, tracing the fabric with his fingertips, and then his hand slips under and he strokes her clit. Zelda bucks her hips into his hand (into her hand), knees buckling, leaning back against him (the wall) to stay upright.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growls into her ear, pulling her flush against him. She can feel the hard line of his erection pressing into the curve of her ass, and she rubs up against it. His hand is really moving now, slick fingers circling her clit with a relentless speed and pressure, her gut clenching up. “That’s it,” he says, biting her neck and licking at where he just bit. “That’s it, Princess, come for me.” Zelda wraps one arm around his neck, keeping his face pressed into her shoulder, and fucks against his hand, her whole being focused between her legs, on his fingers and the hot waves of pleasure washing over her. She stops breathing, body rigid, trembling in his arms, she’s so _close_ , he has her drawn like a bowstring ready to snap, and Link’s hand keeps moving and he bites her neck again--

Zelda comes _hard_ , thighs shaking, head thrown back against the wall. Years of practice means she comes in near-silence, even as she half-blacks out, hyperventilating, pussy clenching around her fingers. She keeps her hand going until she literally _can’t_ anymore, and slowly slides down the wall to collapse in a sweaty, panting pile. Hylia’s fucking tits, she’s in so deep now there’s no getting out of it. It’s a miracle that she can meet Link’s eyes without blushing. Zelda takes a moment to, somewhat blasphemously, thank Hylia for Link’s private bathing room, because without it? Whoof. Then she takes her hand out of her trousers, undresses, and climbs into the bath.

Dinner is delicious and somehow not awkward, even though every time Zelda glances at Link’s hands she thinks of his touch. He scrubs up afterward while Zelda does the dishes, and in the early evening they settle into a comfortable quiet. Zelda keeps working on the green dress (cool safflina, she decides, though she might add the other varieties later) while Link goes through his seemingly-infinite collection of weapons and inspects them for damage. She tries to keep a running count, but loses track after about the ninth sword and the sixth bow. Night falls outside, gentle but inevitable, and they make their way up into the loft, the air through the window cool but with the promise of summer heat to come.

“You should move the bed,” Zelda says, brushing her hair in the vanity mirror. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Link freeze in the motion of climbing into it. “Or give me the inside. If you’re going to keep getting up with the crack of dawn, you shouldn’t have to climb out like a thief.”

Link blinks at her, one knee on the mattress. _A thief?_

“Yeah, you know, sneaking in to steal my pillows.” Zelda sets down the brush and saunters over, a gentle breeze whispering over her skin, her chemise brushing against her calves.

 _Your pillows,_ Link repeats, deadpan, settling down onto one hip. She thinks his eyes flick down her body, once, but it’s too fast to be certain.

“The royal pillows are highly prized,” Zelda insists. “They’re more comfortable than any other pillows. What did you think the royal guard was protecting?”

Link stares at her for a long moment. _Princess,_ he signs, slowly, _these are_ **_my_ ** _pillows._

“All the more reason for you to not have to sneak out of bed like you don’t belong there,” she says crisply. “Now are you going to give me the inside or are you going to move the bed?”

He stares at her a moment longer, covers his face with his hands, and laughs silently. “Okay,” he says, standing. Zelda moves the bedside table and goes to help him with the bed, but Link just grabs the frame, braces his legs, and pulls it a few feet out from the wall like it weighs nothing. He climbs in and leans back on his elbows, eyebrows raised, the ghost of a smirk playing across his face.

“Thank you,” she says gravely, dropping a curtsy. “Truly you are the most noble of my knights.”

“I live to serve, Princess.” Lamplight shines on his teeth as he grins, and Zelda wants to kiss that smile off his perfect, tempting face. She wants those teeth on her skin. Fucking hell, she’s going to have to go for two orgasms the next time she has the privacy if she’s still this wound up after one. None of that shows in her expression, though. She simply extinguishes the lamp and climbs under the blankets. Link stays on his back, and she wiggles closer and puts her head on his shoulder. It’s nice, but not quite comfortable, and they both make little shifts and adjustments and finally Link says, “Wait, let me--” and gets his arm around her so her cheek is pillowed where his chest meets his shoulder. She can feel his breathing, slow and steady, his arm a warm, protective weight against her back, and she throws an arm around his waist and sighs. Zelda wants to thank him, for some reason, maybe for _every_ reason, but the words are inadequate and she’s not even sure what she means. Instead she says nothing, like a coward, and presses a little closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday today! I got you all a present of a 7500 word chapter! It's horny! I hope you liked it!


	12. Chapter 12

Link is not in bed when Zelda wakes up. She sighs, pushes back the covers, and ow ow _ow_ her arms! Her legs! Her core! The hissing sound she makes is entirely audible and also not something she can stop as she levers herself upright and gingerly picks her way down the stairs.

“Yeah,” Link says, his back to her as she settles, groaning, at the table. “That second-day soreness will get you.” He turns, two beautifully plated omelets in his hands, and sets them down with a clink of ceramic. Zelda pours herself a cup of tea from the waiting pot and has to use both hands to keep it steady.

“Goddesses above,” she says, lifting her fork with a wince. “How long before it gets better?”

“Long term, a couple weeks to a month, as your body gets used to it and learns complaining gets it nowhere,” Link says between bites. “Short term…” He flashes a grin at her. “I regret to inform you the solution is more exercise.”

“I know from my anatomical readings that you are correct,” Zelda says mulishly. “That doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”

Link snorts. He finishes his first omelet while Zelda’s still working on hers, and goes back to make a second one. Zelda’s appetite has slowed down a bit from those first early days, when everything took so much of her energy, but now it’s picking up again from the training. Still, a three-egg mushroom omelet is plenty for her this morning, so she sips her tea and idly watches Link cook and eat omelet two.

“What do you want to do today?” she asks. There’s nothing pressing on her end of things, having seen Purah, and Link is always so deferential to her wants and needs that she wants _him_ to have a chance to have an opinion. He shoves the last forkful of egg into his mouth and pushes back from the table.

“I have some ideas,” he says, returning with the Sheikah slate and a piece of paper, “but they depend on you.”

“Link,” Zelda says, pushing her plate out of the way. “I asked what _you_ wanted.”

“I know.” He slides in on the bench next to her, so close their thighs touch in a distracting little jolt of warmth. He props up the slate on a mug and unfolds the paper, his knee pressed to hers under the table. “What _I_ want is to show you Hyrule, but _you_ need to decide how that happens.” Link pushes the paper in front of her and taps the slate, bringing up the map. “I laid out a few options for the order we travel in so it’s…” He pauses, frowning. “A logistically sound research opportunity?”

Those are the most romantic words anyone has ever spoken to Zelda, and she used to have a court poet. Ignoring the rush of emotion that brings, she picks up the paper only to have _another_ rush of emotion. The whole sheet is covered in Link’s neat, blocky handwriting, divided into several columns, each column a listing of shrine locations. One is labeled, “The Order I Did It,” another, “Notable Landmarks,” a third, “Least to Most Scenic.” She scans through the map on the slate as she goes down the lists, realizing that he’s designed travel routes! Multiple travel routes! For her! It’s better than any love letter or poem or ballad, and her heart fills up with a molten gold glow. She loves him so much it hurts to breathe.

“These are amazing, Link,” she tells him, turning the paper over to find more columns, including one labeled, “Places I Got My Ass Kicked,” right next to the one labeled, “Places I Kicked Ass.” (The lists are nearly identical, because apparently Link holds a grudge and goes back for revenge.) “Which of these do you recommend?”

Link hesitates, and she nudges him with her elbow. “Please,” she says, gently. “You spent so long not getting to make choices. I want to know.” He turns to regard her for a bit, eyes flicking over her face, bites his lower lip, and nods.

 _I don’t want to tell you how to do politics--_ he starts, turning the paper over and tapping the column labeled, “The Princess Is Back!” _\--but if it were up to me, we’d at least begin here._ The first four things on the list read, “Zora’s Domain; Goron City; Rito Village; Gerudo Town.” Zelda clenches her hands into her fists and then relaxes them deliberately, because Link’s hands are still moving. _The people… They’ve been living under the shadow of the Calamity and the rampages of the Divine Beasts for so long._ He makes eye contact, his jaw firming. _If you don’t want to come I understand, but I want to tell them it’s over._

Spirits, but he’s beautiful. The planes of his cheekbones are beautiful, his perfect blue eyes are beautiful, and his gentle, noble heart is the most beautiful thing of all. Zelda wants to kiss that nervous mouth and find out what nobility tastes like. “Zora’s Domain it is,” she says, and the relieved look that breaks across his face is even more fucking beautiful, how dare he. “At least King Dorephon knows who I am,” she adds, stretching her neck (ow). “It’ll be a nice trial run where I don’t have to explain everything.”

“Not having to explain is such a beautiful thing,” Link agrees wearily, and she knocks her shoulder into his (ow) and climbs off of the bench (ow) to get dressed. The Zora have seen her in her traveling clothes more frequently than in her court finery, so she goes with sensible trousers and a matching bodice in dark green. After an internal debate, she adds the ceremonial necklace, but leaves the cuffs behind. (Bending over to put on her trousers is an exercise in agony, as is lifting her arms over her head to wiggle into the blouse and bodice. Why was she excited about having a physical body again?) She abandons the idea of braids, instead tying back the top portion of her hair because it’s faster and therefore less tortuous to her useless shoulders.

“I feel like I should be doing something with more ceremony,” she tells Link as they re-convene in the kitchen. “Or bringing a gift, or something.”

 _I’m sure your presence is gift enough,_ he signs with the emotional resonance of a doting grandmother. Zelda snorts loudly as she steps close and wraps her arms around his neck. His arms press her close, so warm and strong. Zelda drops her cheek against his shoulder and lets the blue lights take her.

When the starlight, galaxy sensation fades, the first thing Zelda notices is the sound of water. She detaches herself from Link to find herself on the platform of a shrine, in a sort of carved cave, with sparkling, bubbling water pouring down the staircase in front of her. Blue walls frame the blue sky above her and the air is heavy with cool humidity. It’s been over a hundred years since she was last in Zora’s Domain, but the familiarity slams into her like jumping into water from a cliff. Unfortunately, so does the anxiety. Mipha’s dead, and Zelda had a long time to think about that and wallow in the guilt and the grief, and then another, similarly long period of time to eventually realize it wasn’t her fault, but now she’s going to go talk to Mipha’s father and she doesn’t know if his conclusions will match hers.

Link leads her up the stairs, water splashing around their boots, and she comes face-to-face (well, tail) with a statue of the Zora in question. It’s a beautiful statue and a perfect likeness of her old friend. Zelda can appreciate the work that was put into it, but it certainly does nothing to improve her mood.

“LINK! MY DEAREST FRIEND!” The Zora speaking is easily nine feet tall and bright red. Zelda takes a step back involuntarily just so she can keep him in her eye line without having to crane her neck. “A few weeks ago the Divine Beast Ruta fired a beam of light at the castle and then went dark! I assumed that meant you had gone to face the Calamity!” He drops to one knee and clasps Link’s hands in his massive ones. “I am so glad to see you well, my friend! Does this mean you were victorious?”

“Hey, Sidon,” Link says, giving the enormous Zora a hug. “It’s nice to see you, too. And yes, we succeeded.” He gestures at Zelda, who steps forward with her hand out for a shake. Before Sidon can reach her, though, her _fucking knight_ drops to one knee and says, “Presenting her Royal Highness, Princess Zelda Luciana Hyrule; High Priestess of the Temple of Time; Golden Daughter of Hylia; She Who Seals the Darkness; Last Scion of the Royal Line.”

“Liiiiink,” Zelda groans, her hands over her face. “We had a conversation about this.”

“Sidon is the prince of the Zora!” Link insists from somewhere behind her. “This is an appropriate time for the formal greeting!”

Zelda wants to argue that she used to _babysit_ Prince Sidon, there’s no need to be formal with someone she used to _babysit_ , but she recognizes the futility of that argument. One deep breath later she opens her eyes and extends her hand to the prince. “Prince Sidon,” she says, smiling up at him. “You got really tall while I was away.”

“Princess Zelda!” Sidon says, taking her hand. “I was going to say, I remember you towering over me! What a blessing it is to see you again!” He adjusts his grip, her tiny hand between both of his, and ducks his head. His golden eyes are full of joy and hope. “It’s true, then? You and Link have defeated the Calamity?”

“I have sealed him away. The Malice is again cast out.” Zelda smiles and pats the back of his hand. “Reality has been a bit of an adjustment after a hundred years in an incorporeal form, so I apologize that it’s taken me so long to visit.”

“It is a joy to have you visit whenever you are able!” Sidon says with a smile that practically _sparkles_. “You are as dear a friend to me as Link!” He pauses and squeezes her hands gently. “May I hug you, Princess? It has been so very long.”

“Sidon,” Zelda says solemnly. “I knew you when your head fin still dragged on the ground. You may have blanket, ongoing hug permissions.”

That smile comes back, sharp and toothy and dazzling. “Thank you, Princess!” he says, scooping her up and sweeping her into the air. “What a gift, that we get to resume our friendship after such a separation!” He sets her back down, Link dropping a hand between her shoulders to steady her, and says, “But come! My father will want to speak to you as well!”

Sidon strides off toward a staircase, announcing the Calamity’s defeat to everyone as he goes. Zelda trails after him with a fond grin, glancing over at Link. “My dearest friend?” she whispers, and Link flushes. _He’s very enthusiastic,_ he signs, and Zelda can tell. Everything Sidon says seems to have an exclamation point after it. Link checks to make sure Sidon isn’t looking and continues, _I came here very early on and Sidon… He knew who I was, but he didn’t remember much about me from Before, so he didn’t have expectations of how I should act or what I should remember. It was… easier, around him._ Link slides his eyes sideways at her and adds, _Also, he gives great hugs._

“Confirmed,” Zelda says, which is all the time they have before King Dorephon’s chambers open up before them.

“Father!” Prince Sidon exclaims. “Wonderful news! Sir Link has returned with Princess Zelda! The Calamity is defeated! Hyrule is safe!”

King Dorephon is as massive as ever, taking up practically a whole wall. His enormous face creases into a delighted smile. “Princess Zelda!” he booms, leaning forward to peer at her face. “By the oceans, child! I have long prayed to see you again.” One finger the size of Zelda’s forearm comes forward to delicately trace over her cheek and rest under her chin. “Oh, dearest girl, you haven’t aged a day. You look just as you did when you were last here to see Mipha.”

“I’m so sorry about Mipha,” Zelda says, eyes welling up with tears. “None of us predicted--I’m _sorry._ ”

“I know,” King Dorephon says kindly, wiping away a tear from her cheek with startling delicacy. “It was the Calamity, and Sir Link was able to free her, and you’ve sealed the Malice away. I have never blamed you, dearest Princess.”

“She was able to help, at the end,” Zelda says, clutching his massive hand. “She aided us. If it weren’t for her and the other Champions with the Divine Beasts, I don’t know that we could have done it.”

“Then I’m sure she was satisfied, in the end.” The King chucks her gently under the chin and sits back in his chair. “But enough wallowing in sad memories! The Calamity is defeated and the Princess is returned to us! This is a call for celebration! Stay with us a while, Princess Zelda, and tell us of your adventures.”

Someone brings in chairs, and food, and beverages, and while Zelda didn’t know what this visit was going to entail, she didn’t expect it to involve Link doing an excellent impression of Mipha scolding a baby Sidon. It’s so good Sidon laughs until he gets the hiccups, which Zelda didn’t even know could happen to a Zora. At some point King Dorephon gets tired of having to lean down to Zelda, so he picks her up and sets her on his shoulder. Apparently the look on her face is priceless, because Link spits out half a glass of wine and then laughs until he chokes. It’s a fitting memorial for Mipha, and Zelda is intensely, deeply glad she came.

“Well, Princess,” King Dorephon rumbles, in his version of a whisper. “What does the future hold for you? Do you intend to claim the crown?”

“I don’t know,” Zelda admits, drumming her heels lightly against his pauldron. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

“Well, dearest child, know that whatever you decide, you have my support.” He turns his head, reaching across his chest to take one of her tiny hands carefully between his thumb and finger. “I’ve always thought of you as a second daughter. I’m so grateful that you returned to us.” Zelda throws both arms around his ear fin and presses a kiss to it. “Thank you,” she whispers, and the King carefully pats her back.

Prince Sidon insists that they take a full tour of the Domain, which gives Zelda the opportunity to speak to friends from a century previous. It’s such a relief in so many ways to have a conversation with someone who knows her title, doesn’t much care (other than being glad to see her) and _remembers_ her. The Zora had their losses to the Calamity, but they carried on, and it makes her so, so happy to be here.

She should probably have seen it coming when Link manages to maneuver her into the training area for the Zora guard and casually mentions that, _Zelda’s training in spears, now, I’m sure she’d love to work with you._ A delighted school of Zora swarm her, pulling her deeper into the training area, and she gives Link the dirtiest look she can manage as she goes. He waves with a bright smile and finds somewhere he can watch from. The Zora very politely don’t laugh as Zelda groans her way through her warm-up (with their different physiology, they don’t have the same need for pre-exercise exercise) and they happily press a beautiful silver spear into her hands. “Come, Princess!” Torfeau says, dark scales shining as she twirls her own spear. “Show us what you can do!”

“It’s not very much,” Zelda says, assuming her stance. “Link’s only been training me for two days.” She demonstrates the spear drills she knows, to much approval, and the Zora guards practically fall over each other to try and teach her more. Torfeau finally chases the others off and draws Zelda into a less crowded part of the training area.

“Link’s starting you off with a very solid foundation,” Torfeau says, gently adjusting Zelda’s grip. “But, since today is special, let’s show you something more fun.” Her grin is wide, teeth sharp. The enthusiasm is infectious. Zelda finds herself grinning back just as wide and says, “Yes, please!”

Two hours later, Zelda has bruises on the outside of her legs from the mis-aimed butt of the spear and her hands and forearms are newly sore, but she also knows the basics of several spear flourishes and disarming tactics. She has to beg off more training because her hands are too tired to function, and Torfeau insists on sending her off with a silverscale spear so she can keep practicing properly. Zelda promises to come back for more in-person training at some point in the future.

“I’m ready to go home,” she tells Link, limping just the tiniest bit. He gives her a startled look that morphs into something soft and fond. It confuses Zelda for a moment and then she puts it together--she called it _home_ , the house he’s sharing with her in Hateno. The realization rocks her as well. She’s only been there for two days and it’s already home? _We’ll have to make our goodbyes,_ he tells her, heading off to find Sidon. Zelda watches him go and reflects that no one ever told her home could be a _person._

Leaving is a drawn-out affair. They intend to say goodbye to at least Prince Sidon and King Dorephon, but in the process it seems like every Zora in the Domain stops by to shake their hands and wish them well and thank them for ending the Calamity. By the time they finally escape Zelda has never been so happy for the scattered everywhere/nowhere feeling of slate travel. They materialize on the shrine near Link’s house and she slumps against him with a groan, all the fight gone out of her.

“Princess?” he asks, tucking the slate away so he can press one hand to her lower back, the other between her shoulders. “‘M fine,” she mumbles, cheek to his shoulder. “It was a lot of people and talking.” Zelda pauses and sorts through her body clinically. “I think I need a nap. I thought I was over needing naps.”

“It was a long morning,” Link says, shifting them side by side but leaving an arm around her waist for support as they walk back to the house. “I wouldn’t say no to a nap myself after that.”

“Then it’s settled,” she says. “Naptime for everyone.”

Link laughs, but after they both change into dry clothes (Zora’s Domain is beautiful but there’s simply no avoiding getting wet trousers when you visit) he lays down on the bed with her, both above the covers, and curls against her back. “Do you want to do archery after we wake up?” he asks, an arm around her waist and his breath tickling the back of her neck. “You don't have to if you’re not feeling up for it.”

“I want to,” Zelda says after a moment to think about it. “But… I don’t think I want to go to Goron City directly tomorrow morning.” She rolls onto her back, tucking her legs over Link’s, so she can look him in the eye. “I have less capacity for crowds than I expected,” she admits, fingertips playing absently over his forearm. “I shouldn’t push it.”

“Okay,” he says simply, cheek pressed to her shoulder, looking up at her through his beautiful lashes. “You’re due for a rest day in training, anyway. No reason it also can’t be a rest day for your brain or whatever.”

“Sometimes you say things that start out very smart and end very silly,” Zelda tells him to cover how much she loves him and his gentle, constant acceptance of her. He offers her a winning grin. “What can I say, Princess: I contain multitudes.”

“Go to sleep,” she huffs, letting her eyes slip closed.

The nap may have been a mistake, she reflects later as she struggles through another, freshly agonizing warmup. Archery itself goes much better--Zelda stops missing the hay bales entirely, every arrow sinking in with a satisfying thump. She’s still not getting them all in the _target_ , but progress is progress. Her bath that night is all about muscle tension instead of sexual tension, and she soaks in the hot water until she feels as soft and tender as a slow-cooked cut of beef.

Her bleeding starts the next day, right on schedule. While it’s good to know that her body has resumed normal operations, honestly Zelda could really do without this particular form of normalcy. The day otherwise passes without excitement in a comfortable kind of domesticity--Link cleans the house and does laundry, pinning linens and woolens out on the line to dry in the breeze. Zelda heads in to the tailor in Hateno to put in an order for some more clothes, and very specifically for a boiled leather breastplate to protect her during future archery practice. She does her own laundry when she gets back and poor Link nearly has a heart attack when he sees her scrubbing out her menstrual rags. Once he realizes she’s not injured he pivots immediately into fussing after her like a mother hen. It’s very sweet and also absolutely unnecessary, and she finally has to list all the things she did with him Before while she was bleeding before he calms down and backs off. (Zelda thinks it was her description of hanging upside down from a section of Vah Rudania in the boiling heat of Death Mountain so she could troubleshoot a tricky connection that finally did it. She’s a being fueled by spite and curiosity, she’s not about to let a silly thing like _biology_ stop her from doing what she wants.)

The next morning she’s crampy but not horribly so. It takes a little convincing before Link accepts that she’s perfectly capable of their planned trip to Goron City, but eventually they both knock back a fireproof elixir and step into their increasingly-normal travel embrace. The heat of Death Mountain is a dry slap in the face, but also immediately soothes the ache in her guts and lower back. Her new haircut is an absolute _blessing_ \--Zelda remembers the hot weight of all that hair, insulating her back and neck even with the most powerful elixirs. She breathes in dry, mineral-scented air and feels free.

No one in Goron City is old enough to remember her directly, though most know the stories. The Boss, Bludo, listens to Link’s introduction and Zelda’s explanation with a skeptical air. Eventually he shrugs and allows, “Well, the kid there has the sword that seals the darkness, and we can see from here the Calamity is gone. I don’t need to agree that you’re the princess from a hundred years ago to understand that you’ve clearly done us a great turn. Welcome to Goron City, Sister!” Yunobo, the youth who helped Link defeat Vah Rudania, is rather more starstruck at the idea of meeting A Real Princess. He keeps bowing, which isn’t really something Gorons generally _do_ , which means he keeps overbalancing and having to flail to compensate. It’s very charming.

As word spreads through the city about the fall of Ganon and the return of the princess, the day unsurprisingly turns into a party. Gorons don’t go in for feasting in the same way that the other races do, but they _love_ dancing. Someone brings out some drums, and someone else brings out more drums, and then a third person brings out even _more_ drums, and by lunchtime the whole mountain shakes with the percussion. Goron dancing is full-bodied and rowdy--Zelda opts not to join in for most of it, but a trio of Gorons show up, loudly declare Link their Blood Brother, and drag him out into the sea of rocky bodies. Link doesn’t so much _dance_ as _dodge_ , at least until he gets the hang of it, and then he starts crashing his body around like a loose barrel in the back of a cart on a rocky road. Zelda eats her fourth roasted mushroom (Aji, the owner of Goron City’s only tourist restaurant, keeps bringing her more food) and tries not to laugh.

Link turns and catches her eye, where she’s watching from an elevated ledge, and gestures for her to join him. Zelda shakes her head, giggling, and he gestures more emphatically. She puts on a bored air and examines her nails. “Come on, Princess,” Link says, suddenly right in front of her. “It’ll be fun.”

“Link, they’re all enormous and made of rocks,” Zelda protests as he takes her hand and tugs her down into the crush. “You might be indestructible, but I’m pretty sure I’m not.”

“Don’t worry, Little Sister!” one of Link’s Blood Brothers booms, clapping her on the back with what she’s pretty sure he intends as a gentle touch and which instead forces her into a jog to keep her balance. “We’ll keep you safe while you rock out!” He turns away, cheerfully punching another Goron in the shoulder, and yells, “Right on, Brother!” True to his word Zelda finds herself in a little oasis of calm with Link, the three brothers creating a living wall to protect her from the other dancers. She looks at Link, face flushed, eyes bright, and feels suddenly alone with him for all they’re in the center of a crowd.

“I don’t know how to dance to this,” she admits in half a shout, the drums pounding in her ears. “Somehow the court dances don’t seem appropriate!”

Link laughs, teeth shining, and signs, _There’s not a lot to it, but if you really want guidance… Dodge!_ He swings a fist at her, slow enough that she can predict it, and she jukes her upper body out of the way just in time for him to sweep a foot at her leg. Zelda dodges that one as well, stepping back, and Link keeps coming, throwing attacks at her that are never meant to connect. She realizes after a moment that he’s doing it to the beat, and a few dodges later realizes he’s repeating the attacks in a rhythm. The next swing comes at her face, and she rolls her body to the side and returns the attack. Link grins as he dodges. “Exactly!” he says, falling back as she sweeps his leg.

Dancing is easy after that. Freed of the idea that there are steps or forms, Zelda moves when and where she wants, sometimes in conjunction with Link, sometimes not. It’s exhilarating and loud and sweaty and _fun_ , and she doesn’t realize how long she’s been at it until she stumbles over her own feet. Link catches her, says, “Princess?” and Zelda becomes abruptly, acutely aware of how thirsty and lightheaded she is. “I think we should go,” she says. Link nods, scans her face, and sets her back on her feet. “Okay.”

He punches his Brothers in goodbye, and they find Yunobo and Bludo to wish them more formal farewells. The nothingness of the Sheikah slate is blissful, and the afternoon rain shower that greets them in Hateno is a blessing.

“I’m just going to sit out here for a bit,” Zelda tells Link, sitting down on the bridge and dangling her feet over the water below. Without speaking he joins her, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh. He presses a waterskin into her hands and she drains nearly a third of it in one go.

“It was so long ago,” she says, the summer rain dampening her hair and dripping down her face. “I forgot how bad the heat gets.”

 _I should have reminded you,_ Link says, droplets flashing off his hands. _I shouldn’t have gotten so caught up._

“No.” Zelda takes his hand and leans her shoulder into his. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you have fun like that before. It was worth it.” Link looks at her for a long moment, an emotion on his face she can’t quite place. He releases her hand and wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in firmly, and they sit like that for a while and listen to the water.

The rain doesn’t break that afternoon, so Link moves all the furniture and makes Zelda run spear drills in the house. She doesn’t break anything and remembers most of what Torfeau taught her, so she considers it a success. They go to bed that night with the rain still falling outside the window, and Zelda curls up with Link’s head on her shoulder and thinks about spending every season with him in this house. She thinks about hot summer nights and the crisp bite of autumn and being snowed in come winter and watching the leaves bud out in spring. She thinks about having a life with him, here, and falls asleep to that dream.

Morning brings with it an attack of absolutely _vicious_ cramps. Zelda makes it downstairs for breakfast without revealing her situation, but somewhere in between her third and fourth slice of toast one stabs her in the abdomen. She hisses and curls up over the pain, hands on her gut, trying to shove her fingers deep enough to massage out the misery. Link takes one look at her and practically vaults the table, one hand on her back, the other on her knee. “Princess?” he asks, a little wildly, and she can hear the panic in his voice.

“Cramps,” she manages, when she can breathe. “I’ll be all right in a bit.”

“Princess,” Link says, so firmly she turns to look at him. “You don’t have to just suffer.” He’s so determined and caring her heart cramps up, especially when he shakes himself a little and amends it to, “I refuse to just _let_ you suffer.” Standing, he crosses to the kitchen and rattles through some cabinets, coming back with a lightly glowing bottle that he sets firmly in front of her. She barely has time to react to that before he tracks down a leather hot water bottle and fills it with the remaining liquid in the kettle. That gets shoved into her arms, and he sits down across the table and gives her a Look. Goddesses above and demons below, she loves this boy _so much_.

“Does this have willow bark in it?” she asks instead of telling him that, resting one finger on the bottle. “Willow bark thins the blood and makes the bleeding worse.”

 _It does not,_ he reassures her. _Warriors don’t exactly want to make their bleeding worse, either._

Well. Asked and answered. Zelda pops the cork and downs the elixir, presses the hot water bottle to her abdomen, and returns to her breakfast. By the time she’s done eating both are kicking in, but after a hundred years of inaction her uterus is ready to punch someone in the _face_ , and by “someone” she means “her” and by “the face” she means “all of her guts.” She exits the privy room and leans against the doorframe, hissing through another cramp. Link catches her by the elbow.

“You’re going back to bed,” he tells her in tones that brook no argument, leading her back up the stairs. Zelda wants to argue but gets another cramp instead, so she climbs meekly between the sheets. Her knight fucking _vaults_ the railing to land on the floor below, and returns momentarily at a near sprint with the hot water bottle.

 _Is it like this every time?_ he asks, kneeling next to the bed. Zelda presses the heat to her abdomen again and tries to breathe. _How do you get anything_ **_done_** _?_

“Not usually this bad,” Zelda says shortly, unable to keep the wince off her face. “Maybe once or twice a year. It won’t be like this tomorrow, it’s just-- _hnng_ \--overactive at the moment.” Deep breath in, deep breath out. Calm. _Control._ “The cramps will probably fade by lunch.”

Link stares at her for a long time, watching her face pinch up as another cramp rips through her. Hylia's fucking _tits_ , this is a bad one. _Roll over,_ he signs with quick movements before standing up and taking off his boots.

“Pardon?”

Link pauses with one knee on the bed. _You said rubbing your back would help. Roll over._

“Oh.” Zelda blinks at him, bewildered and touched. It takes some arranging, with a pillow under her for support so she can keep the hot water bottle in place without crushing it against the mattress, but she lies face-down, head on her crossed arms, and watches him out of the corner of her eye. “Any special techniques I should know?” he asks, pulling the blankets down to expose her back and tucking them around her hips, carefully _not_ actually touching her body.

“Just shove your thumbs in as hard as you can until I tell you to stop or you get tired.” Zelda’s breath catches on another cramp and she bites her forearm, just for some level of distraction.

“I live to serve, Princess,” he says, throwing one leg over the back of her thighs. “And I don’t get tired.” Before she can really react to either the statement or the suggestiveness of his position, he gets both warm hands on her low back and drives his thumbs in just above her sacrum. It’s excruciatingly, blessedly painful, but painful like a stretch, not painful like an injury. Zelda makes a frankly embarrassing sound and drops her forehead into her arms.

“Too much?” he asks, hands stilling, and she tries to shove her back further into his grip. “I didn’t tell you to stop,” she mutters. Link huffs a laugh and his hands move again, shifting a little further up her back before his thumbs resume their pressure. It’s perfect, it’s agony, it’s torture and Zelda never wants it to stop. It doesn’t even feel sexual, which some logical part of her finds surprising, what with Link’s knees on either side of her thighs and the knowledge of his body somewhere above her and only her chemise between his hands and her skin. It’s too pure a physical sensation for it to be arousing--it blows past suggestiveness and into the animal part of her mind that just wants her gut to stop tearing her apart.

“Gods,” she moans as he finds a knot above one hip, probably from training, and sets about ensuring its destruction. “Right there, _fuck_.” Every time he works something loose in her back, something else unravels in her front, the cramps ebbing like the tide. Zelda breathes and his strong hands work her over and the pain fades and everything goes warm and good.

“Your breathing has evened out,” Link observes, moving off of her and dropping to one hip. He leaves one hand on her back, running it up and down her spine in slow movements. “Better?”

“Much.” Zelda turns her head so she can see his face where he’s sitting, half-turned away. “Congratulations, Sir Link,” she tells him. “You are now the Hero of Menstrual Cycles; the Slayer of Cramps; He Who Rubs The Royal Back.”

“I live to serve,” he says with a shrug, ears going pink. “Do you need more hot water?”

Zelda considers. The cramps have receded back to a dull ache, but if she pushes it they’ll be back with a vengeance. She should probably give it another hour or so before she tries to get out of bed for real. “Yes, please.” It takes some wiggling to get the water bottle out from under her, but she manages. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“My lady.” Link sketches a bow and accepts the heavy leather bag with dignity. He rolls off the bed and heads for the stairs, his movements lacking their usual grace in a way she can’t quite parse. Zelda shuffles around, getting the pillows behind her back, and reclines against the headboard. It takes a little while for him to return, and she hears him shuffling around in the kitchen and the opening and closing of a couple of doors. Eventually he’s back, carrying an armload of things that resolve themselves into the hot water bottle, a teapot that smells of mint, some sliced fruit, her journal, the green dress, and her embroidery kit.

 _I didn’t know how long you’d be up here,_ he tells her after he settles the tray with the tea and fruit on the bedside table. _I figured I should be prepared._

“Are you staying with me?” she asks, pulling the embroidery close. Journaling in bed is a recipe for ink on the sheets, something she knows from experience. Link doesn’t answer, but he crosses to the low bookshelf and digs out a novel. Zelda scoots out of the middle of the bed as he climbs in on his side, above the blankets, and cracks the book open.

“Is that a historical court romance?” she asks, craning her neck to see the cover. “You read historical court romances?”

“They’re comforting,” Link says without an ounce of shame. “The highest stakes thing that ever happens is her father tries to arrange her marriage to a man who she doesn’t love, and it’s fine because you know she’s going to end up with the right guy anyway. No one dies, there are no monsters, and sometimes you get people kissing secretly in a hedge maze.” He turns a page and glances at her. “Now shh, Karolina’s seeing a seamstress to design the gown for her debut ball. This is important.”

It shouldn’t be possible, Zelda reflects, to love Link more than she already does, but somehow he keeps finding ways to make her love him more. It’s deeply unfair. She’s pretty sure it shouldn’t be allowed. She should probably lodge a complaint with Hylia, but she sort of _is_ Hylia, so she doesn’t know how that would work. A mild lance of pain reminds her about why she’s in this bed in the first place, so Zelda puts aside those thoughts and finds the hot water bottle again.

As predicted, by lunch Zelda is functional again. It takes a little convincing for Link to agree, but when she announces her intention of going for a ride and saunters out the door, he rushes out after her. The rain left the land refreshed and clean and so very, very green, and they end up riding across the valley below Hateno to Nirvata Lake. Zelda runs spear drills on the shore and Link starts training her in parrying blade attacks. It’s a fun challenge, even if she’s terrible at it. Archery goes better. They don’t have targets but there is the rotten shell of what used to be a fence, and Zelda gets more of her arrows into the old posts than she misses. That night she curls up in bed, the hot water bottle at her front and Link warm and solid at her back, tired and satisfied and so _furiously_ in love she has no idea what to do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you not to get used to that update schedule!
> 
> I return to M-F work next week because this is America and we are garbage at pandemic response, among other things. I'll still be cranking away on this fic I just don't know what my writing schedule will look like, yet.
> 
> Anyway, whomst among us doesn't want a loyal knight to shove his thumbs into our low back when we're having cramps? Truly the dream


	13. Chapter 13

Zelda’s cramps can be managed with just an elixir the next morning, so Link capitulates to their continued travels. He does insist on bundling her up in warm clothing before he pulls her close and warps them Rito Village. The shrine here is on a plateau near the very top of the stone pillar the village is built on, hundreds of feet above the surrounding countryside. The view is stunning. Before they do anything else Zelda stands with her hands on the railing and stares at the distant snow-topped mountains and the plains beyond them and the even more distant Hyrule Castle. It’s the first chance she’s had to see so much of Hyrule at once and from here she can’t see the destruction, only the life. It fills her with so much hope she has a hard time breathing for a moment.

“Where is Rito Village on the ‘Least to Most Scenic’ list?” she asks Link, her eyes on a hawk circling an updraft.

“Oh,” he says, too casually, “it’s pretty _up there_.”

“You are the fucking _worst,_ ” she tells him, and turns on her heel to stalk away over the wooden bridge.

The Rito chief, Kaneli, doesn’t seem to believe Link is the warrior of legend, but rather that he’s his own grandchild, probably, which Zelda finds hilarious. Because of this he doesn’t necessarily believe that Zelda is the original princess, either, but much like Bludo, he thinks that doesn’t matter. “You must carry her power if you have sealed the Calamity,” he says, “and Link tamed the Divine Beast Vah Medoh because he has the blood of the old hero. For your great service to Hyrule, you will always be welcome in Rito Village.” He seems to consider his duties discharged at that point, because he settles back into his chair and goes to sleep. A white-feathered Rito named Teba takes over, drawing Zelda out of Kaneli’s roost and into his own. She finds out, in the process, that this is the Rito that helped Link get aboard the Divine Beast, and she gets the whole story out of him while Link chats with his wife and son.

“Bomb arrows?” she asks, glancing over at where Link has little Tulin held above his head, the fledgling flapping _furiously_ as her knight runs back and forth along the wooden walkway. “How excited was he when he heard he got to use bomb arrows?”

“Zelda,” Teba says, leaning in, his brow feathers high. “I had twenty on hand I was going to offer him, and he opened his pack and pulled out twice that many just to show me he was prepared for the fight. Apparently that was only _some_ of his collection.”

“Sound about right,” Zelda says dryly, and Teba laughs.

Rito Village isn’t as overwhelming as their previous visits on the “The Princess is Back!” tour. The village is less crowded to begin with, what with the Rito being a people who like to travel and stretch their wings, so not every roost is currently occupied. No one here fully believes them to be the returned hero and princess, either, so Link is just “that guy who stopped the Divine Beast from threatening us” and Zelda is just “his friend who he defeated Ganon with, I guess?” The people are curious and want to chat, but the largest crowd Zelda has to contend with is rather small in its own way, being comprised of every child in the village. “Are you _really_ a princess?” one asks, a young girl with bright pink feathers. “Forget that!” another interrupts, her feathers purple. “Did you really know Revali?”

“I did,” Zelda confirms, to audible gasps. “Did you know,” she starts, kneeling down conspiratorially, “that when I first met him, he was having trouble with Revali’s Gale?”

“No!” says a green-feathered child in the back.

“He was,” Zelda insists. “He had to practice very hard in order to master it. What are you all practicing?” A clamor of chirping hits her in response as the Rito fledglings all answer her at once, and she settles herself on a cushion for what turns into Revali Storytelling Hour.

Before they leave a Rito named Harth presses an Eagle bow into Zelda’s hands. “Link said you were working on archery,” he says gruffly. “If you need another, come back and see me.” Link also insists on buying Zelda a set of Rito armor, adorned with feathers and wonderfully warm. It’s practical but makes her guilty, the way she keeps taking and taking from Link as he gives and gives. “We really need to have a conversation about how I keep spending your money,” she says under her breath to him as they wave farewell to the flock.

“Some of it’s your money,” Link says with a shrug, pulling her in against him and tapping the slate. When they materialize on the shrine in Hateno she pulls back and squints at him. “What do you mean it’s my money?”

Link flushes a little bit and shuffles his feet. _I mean… I may have looted the castle._

Zelda touches her tongue to one of her upper canines, half-grinning. “You looted the castle.”

Link nods. _I may have looted it p_ _retty thoroughly. It’s not like the Calamity or the lizalfos really cared about the royal treasury, so a lot of it was still intact._

“So you stole it.” She’s grinning in earnest now. Her noble knight, confessing to being a common thief.

 _I prefer to think of it as moving your valuables to a safe location pending your return._ The movements are prim, his face dignified. Zelda almost believes it, but…

“You thought I was dead,” she reminds him. “Admit it, you were just looting to loot.”

 _I was liberating unused resources so that I could stimulate the economy of Hyrule,_ he insists as they stroll back into the house. _Anyway, the point I was trying to make is you don’t have to feel guilty about spending my money, Princess. It’s the least I can do._

“Still, though,” she says, catching his hand and tugging him toward her. “Thank you, Link. You’ve been so kind and generous and supportive and I just--” Zelda stares at him, his eyes so blue, his face so familiar, every part of him so perfect and beautiful and she loves him _so much_ “--I really appreciate it,” she finishes, like a coward.

“I live to serve,” he says, squeezing her hand. He looks like maybe he wants to say something else, but when he speaks what comes out is, “Do you want to try out your new bow?”

“I’d love to,” she says, instead of “I love you,” and they change into clothes better suited for the Hateno summer and head to the makeshift archery range. Her accuracy is better with the Eagle bow, but she’s not strong enough to draw it more than five times in a row. She sets it aside reverently, promising it more practice at a later date, and takes up her usual practice bow for the rest of the session.

Zelda flat-out vetoes the idea of visiting Gerudo City before she’s done bleeding. “I’ve been before,” she says. “I know what I’ll need to wear for the heat and I don’t want to deal with light diaphanous fabrics while also sweating into a wad of bloody rags in my crotch.”

Link listens to this blunt statement with a blank face and just a touch of horror in his eyes. _How do the Gerudo handle it?_ he asks, hands moving as though he can’t stop himself.

“Some use a sort of internal sponge,” Zelda says. “I’ve never tried it myself, since it seems less ideal for traveling.” Link’s face does a series of gymnastics as he clearly tries to work out the logistics of that. Finally he shakes his head, ears pink, and signs, _I’m sure Riju will be happy to meet you whenever you feel ready._

It’s three more days before her cycle is done, three days where she picks destinations off Link’s list, practically at random (which defeats the purpose of the lists, to a certain extent, not that he complains) to visit in the mornings, and three days of weapons training in the afternoons. They stop in with Robbie, out by the Akkala sea, who is delighted to hear that he has non-hostile Guardians to research again. They go to Lake Hylia and wander across one of the last intact stone bridges in Hyrule. Link takes her to Gut Check Rock to visit his Goron Blood Brothers, and then demonstrates how he joined their number, fairly flying up the stone face like it’s no effort at all. It pours in Hateno one afternoon, an absolute monster of a thunderstorm, so they travel to Kakariko and have dinner with Impa and Paya, to everyone’s delight.

The day her bleeding ends they have fried greens over rice for an early dinner. Afterward, Link hands her a folded stack of lightweight clothing and signs, _This should work for you tomorrow._ She pulls up the first piece and recognizes traditional Gerudo tailoring. It’s been dyed green, a rich cool tone that will contrast her skin. “Thank you,” she says, and then, as casually as possible, she asks, “What are you going to wear?”

Link goes still for a moment before he tells her what she already knows. _I have one of my own._ He looks at her, carefully investigating her face, and adds, _It’s blue._

Zelda can sense this moment is fragile, somehow, and she has some ideas about the shape of why. She nods, runs her hands over the fabric in her lap, and makes her voice as gentle as she can. “May I see? You in it?” He hesitates, something warring on his face, and she sets the clothing aside and stacks up their dishes to wash. “It’s fine if no,” she says, her back to him. “I’ll see it tomorrow morning anyway, I suppose.”

She hears one audible huff of breath and his footsteps on the stairs. When the dishes are clean and her hands are dry, she gathers up the stack of clothes and follows him into the loft. Link’s back is to her, nervousness in every line of his body, so she puts the Gerudo-made garments away without speaking, keeping him in her peripheral vision. Finally he turns around, shoulders back and chin high, in a convincing lie of confidence that would probably fool anyone other than her. She faces him fully and her breath catches in her throat.

Link is _gorgeous_. That shouldn't come as a surprise, because she’s pretty sure he could wear a canvas sack and still be beautiful, but the Gerudo top and sirwal is something else entirely. It’s at least partially the amount of skin on display, his bare shoulders and abdomen honestly a little shocking, but the color suits him, and the cut suits him, and the way the trousers hit below his trim waist and then flare out to suggest hips? The veil, hiding that wonderful face but somehow making his eyes look even bigger? Fucking spectacular.

“Damn,” Zelda says with full honesty. “You look _amazing._ ” She lets her eyes travel up and down his body again, admiring every inch of him, and then, because he’s still weirdly tense, jokes, “I can see why Bozai was so into you.”

She’s expecting Link to laugh, and for both of them to rag on the Hylian man for his ridiculous antics. Instead, Link’s eyes go dark and he takes half a step toward her. _That guy is a fucking creep,_ he signs, hands cutting through the air viciously. _I was doing the Gerudo a favor._

“Link--” she starts, but his hands keep moving. _Some of the Gerudo never meet a man who isn’t their dad until they’re adults, they have no idea what to expect, and guys like him think they’re going to be easy to manipulate so they hang around Gerudo Town like they’re stalking prey. It’s disgusting!_

“Link--” Zelda tries again, but he’s really going now, pacing back and forth on the floor, a scowl visible above the veil. _Fucking jerk knew he couldn’t find a Hylian woman who’d put up with his shit so he decides to try it out on women who don’t know any better, he’s lucky I just scammed him out of his boots--_

“ _Link,_ ” Zelda says, catching his wrists so his gaze swings back to her, startled. “When I saw you turn down that asshole before he could even finish asking you out, I laughed so hard Calamity Ganon threw a tantrum.”

“Really?” he asks, eyebrows high. She thinks he might be smiling under the veil.

“Really,” she confirms. “It was the highlight of my confinement.” Zelda releases his wrists and reaches slowly up for the veil, keeping her movements obvious so he can stop her if he wants. He doesn’t, and she gently unhooks it from one side to reveal the rest of his lovely face. “You really do look good in this,” she says softly, dropping her hand to rest lightly on his sternum.

 _Thanks,_ he signs, ears a little pink. _The Gerudo are… free with their compliments, but it’s nice to hear it from you._

“Link,” Zelda says, mock-serious. “Are you telling me you snuck into Gerudo Town just to get Gerudo compliments?”

 _There’s also a store that sells every kind of arrows,_ he points out, ears redder now. _But don’t tell me you don’t also love Gerudo compliments, I saw how you were around Urbosa._

“I was--what?” Zelda splutters, thrown off-balance by this conversational turn. “I wasn’t any kind of way around Urbosa!”

 _No?_ Link signs, and then goes into what is apparently supposed to be an impression of her. “Urbosa,” he says, mimicking her court accent and pretending to swoon, “you’re so tall and strong! Are all Gerudo women like you? Urbosa, I come up to your waist which is my excuse for why I’m always staring at your hips. Urbosa, I’m tired, can I lay my weary head to rest on your bosom?” He grins wickedly at her, all his shyness melted away under the teasing. _You lit up like a Silent Princess every time she smiled at you, don’t try to pretend otherwise._

“I--” Zelda says, her head spinning. A lot of things slot into place behind her eyes, and she claps a hand over her mouth and goggles at Link. “I had a crush on Urbosa,” she whispers into her fingers. Hylia above, how did she not notice? She used to stare at Urbosa’s ass and breasts and fucking _mouth_ and tell herself it was just a scientific interest in the anatomical differences among Hylians and Gerudo. She used to sniff Urbosa when they were hugging, the same way she sniffs Link now, their scents completely different but the action identical. She braided Urbosa’s hair, once, her hands tingling the whole time, and told herself it was just because Urbosa’s hair was so soft. “ _I_ had a crush on _Urbosa,_ ” she repeats. “Hylia’s golden tits, I had a _crush_ on Urbosa.”

Link blinks at her, his humor fading into bewilderment. _Did you just now figure that out?_

“Maybe,” she admits. He barks a hastily stifled laugh, and she slaps at his shoulder ineffectually. “That’s not fair!” Zelda says, half-giggling. “I knew there were women who liked women, but I was attracted to you--young men--” she manages to cover at the last second, face pink “--and no one _told_ me I could like more than one!”

“Oh my gods,” Link says weakly into his hands, sitting down on the foot of the bed with a helpless thump. “Why am I the trigger for everything weird in your life?”

“Oh, sure,” Zelda says, a little stung and still reeling, “and I suppose you were born knowing people could like more than one gender?”

 _No,_ Link admits, _I learned that when I first joined the guard and saw Captain Hareldan._

Ah, yes. Captain Hareldan. Zelda sits down on the foot of the bed and gives a little involuntary sigh right along with Link, lost in memory. “He was _very_ handsome, wasn’t he?” Zelda says, remembering his midnight dark skin and the way it reflected the light, his sparkling brown eyes, and his tight, neat braids. “There wasn’t a dry eye amongst the ladies in waiting when he married his husband.”

 _The barracks was half a party, half in mourning that night,_ Link confirms. They stare into the middle distance in silence for a long, yearning moment before Zelda finally shakes herself out of it. “So, you like men?” she asks, wondering if she’s been making an absolute fool of herself for ages.

 _And women,_ Link signs, to her profound relief. _And I always thought Honored Evren was nice to look at._

“They had really spectacular hair,” Zelda agrees, remembering the curly auburn tresses of that particular knight. All this new information bounces around in her head, upsetting the order of her inner library, and she takes the time to shelve it all into place. She thinks about Urbosa again, about her strong shoulders and her bright smile, and she flops down on her back on the bed, covering her face with her hands.

“I cannot _believe_ ,” she groans, crushed under the weight of her past embarrassment, “it took me _one hundred years_ to figure out I had a crush on Urbosa.”

“Yeah,” Link says, settling back on the bed next to her. “You’re supposed to be the smart one.”

“Shut up,” she says, smacking at him without looking and getting a hand full of warm skin. He catches her hand and interlaces their fingers without speaking, and they lay there in a comfortable silence for a little while.

The first sign she gets that Link’s not done comes when his hand tenses on hers. “Zelda?” he says, quietly, in a tone that’s strangely uncertain. She takes her other hand off her face and rolls over to look at him, and he does the same so they’re mirroring each other on their sides. There’s something he wants to say, she can tell, his throat working and his eyes flicking back and forth between hers, the scarf on his head slightly askew. Zelda squeezes his hand and waits.

“It’s not sneaking,” he says eventually, and she frowns a question at him. “Earlier,” he clarifies, “you said I snuck into Gerudo Town. Sneaking implies I was lying, or trying to trick someone.” Link swallows, his eyes on hers and full of something she doesn’t understand yet. “I wasn’t sneaking.”

“Okay,” she says softly, squeezing his hand again. “What does that mean?”

Teeth sink into his lower lip as Link looks somewhere past her, clearly thinking hard. “Voe are banned from entering Gerudo Town, but they let Gorons in, right? Because Gorons aren’t voe, even though they use male pronouns and call each other Brother all the time?”

“Right,” Zelda says, although she’s still not entirely sure where he’s going with this, but it’s obviously important so she wants him to keep talking.

“And then Gerudo themselves, they’re almost all women, and it doesn’t matter if some of them have--um.” His cheeks go pink, and he avoids her gaze. “If--if they--”

“Have an interior or exterior configuration?” she guesses, tipping her chin subtly downward. Link shuts his eyes in what looks like pure relief and nods. “Right,” he says, gathering up the threads of the conversation like he needs to darn it back together. “So I’m not--I’m not _hiding_ anything.” His words fail again, there, and he looks around the room a little wildly like something there will hold the secret of what he’s trying to articulate. “Sorry,” he says, “I’ve never talked about this with anyone before.”

“Do you want to sign?” she suggests, and Link squeezes her hand again. “No. I want--it’s important that it’s like this.”

Zelda nods, the beginning of a suspicion itching in the back of her mind. “Link,” she asks, delicately. “Are you like Honored Evren? Or Lady Gavina?” She remembers the latter, who started out as one of the castle pageboys before realizing that wasn’t a good fit for multiple reasons. Lovely woman, and so much happier once people started referring to her correctly. Zelda feels a pang, again, for all the people lost in the Calamity. Lady Gavina was probably in the castle, working on one of her beautiful embroidered pieces, and now she exists only in the memories of a handful of people. Her knight is still here, though, and still thinking hard, so she pulls her attention out of the past to focus on him again.

“No,” Link says in answer, frowning. A moment later he adds, “Maybe?”

“Okay,” Zelda says, again, wriggling a bit closer until their knees press together, curled on their sides as they are. “Tell me.”

Link heaves a huge breath, shuts his eyes again for a long moment, and says, “People sometimes call me a woman even if I’m not dressed like this, right?” He opens his eyes and meets her gaze, determination and wariness both in the blue depths. Zelda nods, because yes, she’s witnessed it--someone will see her knight from the back and make an assumption based on his height and hair. Now she’s questioning whether there was an assumption, because… “You never correct them.”

Link nods. “I don’t correct them because it doesn’t feel like there’s anything to correct. I’m not--Honored Evren and Lady Gavina, people like them, they _care_. It _matters_ to them that people get it right. I understand that most people find it important, that there’s a way to refer to them that’s the _right_ way, but I’ve never felt that.” He shrugs, pretending to be casual but she can feel him about to vibrate out of his skin. “I think, if the first person I met after I woke up had called me a young woman instead of a young man, I would have just gone with it.”

“Oh,” Zelda says, mind whirring to catalog this fresh revelation. “So you’re not one or the other or neither, you’re _all_ of them.”

“See,” Link says with a nervous laugh, “this is why you’re the smart one, because you can take all my rambling and put it into one sentence.”

“Normally I’m the one rambling,” Zelda points out, still thinking. “So when you dress like this--” she lets her eyes flick down to his chest and back up “--it’s not a disguise, it’s just--it’s just one aspect of yourself, and it makes it easier for other people to see that aspect.”

“Yeah,” he says, voice quiet. His hand still feels tense, and when she looks up at his face there’s an expectant kind of fear, but why--

“Oh,” she says again, realizing. Zelda releases his hand and lunges across the bed to wrap him in her arms. “I’m glad you told me,” she says, squeezing him hard. “It doesn’t change anything. You’re still my knight, and I--” _love you_ , part of her screams, and she ignores it “--still want to stay with you, as long as that’s what you want.”

Link presses his head into her shoulder and breathes there for a long time, trembling against her with relief and nerves. Zelda tries to keep her hands off his bare skin, because she doesn’t need that distraction right now, but there’s just _so much of it_. She ends up petting up and down his spine, trying to keep her attentions platonic even as her fingertips catalog every ridge and scar as they go from skin to fabric to skin again.

“Thank you,” he says, finally, pushing back until they’re face to face. He takes her hand and they curl up together, foreheads almost touching. “Of course,” Zelda says. She brushes her thumb over his scarred knuckles and asks, “Do you want me to change how I refer to you?”

Link frowns at her for a moment, trying to parse the question, and then he laughs and shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I meant it--he is fine. So is she. So is they. You’re used to using he, though, so keep using it.” He bites his lower lip again and admits, “The first thing I heard when I woke up was you calling my name, and that felt perfect. I’ll always be your Link.”

“Okay,” Zelda says, for lack of any more sensible words, and does something very dangerous: she wriggles her lower arm up between them so she can slip it between his face and the blankets, her thumb brushing back and forth over his cheekbone. “My knight,” she tells him, her voice very soft, and his eyes flutter shut, his face curling into her touch. They stay there for a long time, and she wants very, very badly to let her thumb travel from his cheek down to trace his beautiful lips. She thinks they’d be soft. She thinks her thumb would fit neatly into the little divot under his nose. She thinks maybe she could slide the tip of it between them, into the heat of his mouth, and press it against one of his lower canines.

“That cannot be comfortable to lie down in,” she says, instead, running her other hand from his up his arm to the shoulder, tapping on one of the metal arm bands keeping the sleeves up. He blinks his eyes back open and grins at her, ruefully. “It’s definitely not,” he confirms, sitting up with a light jangle of metal. “Fashion sometimes requires the sacrifice of comfort, Princess.”

“Well, we’re not in Gerudo Town yet,” Zelda says, pushing to her feet, “so we don’t have to make those terrible choices and can change into pajamas.”

 _Blessings be to Hylia,_ he signs solemnly. Zelda snorts and throws a sock at him.

Later, when the lamp is out and the only light is from the moon shining through the window, Link presses into Zelda’s side, his head on her shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispers again, barely audible. “I never--you’re the only one.”

“Of course,” she says, working her fingertips into his hair so she can scritch the back of his scalp. She doesn’t, normally, because it seems too intimate, but if what they shared earlier isn’t intimacy, then what is? He shivers under her hand and goes absolutely boneless. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Zelda thinks he wants to say something in response, but no words come. Sleep does, though, wrapped around them in the darkness like they’re wrapped around each other. She presses a kiss against the crown of his head and it’s the last thing she remembers before morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hell yeah, here's another chapter I've been planning for ages so enjoy my disaster bisexual headcanons and my trans Gerudo headcanons and my genderfluid Link headcanons.
> 
> Also Bozai is a creep and catfishing him for boots is one of my very favorite sidequests
> 
> Godspeed, friendos! I'll see you on the other side of whatever my writing schedule becomes now that I'm going back to work.


	14. Chapter 14

The bed is empty when Zelda wakes up, and she sets her hand to the impression of Link in the sheets and sighs. What is it going to take, she wonders, for her knight to give her a damn morning cuddle? Is that an unreasonable thing to want? She wanders downstairs to find a sort of savory egg tart with meat and vegetables in it on offer for breakfast, which is delicious enough that she forgives him instantly.

“Do you ever wear skirts?” she asks, sipping her tea. Link startles, as though he’d forgotten last night’s conversation, and blinks at her. “I’ve tried a couple of times,” he admits between bites, “but they’re so encumbering I take them off after maybe fifteen minutes. I don’t know how you manage it.”

“Practice,” Zelda says. “But also complaining. Perhaps you recall some of my tirades on the subject.”

Link grins. _Right, what was it… A royal conspiracy? To keep you under control?_

“Right,” Zelda says, nodding firmly and pointing with her fork. “They make me wear a skirt because I’m a lady and don’t let me wear leggings underneath it because that’s unfashionable, and then tell me I can’t allow anyone to see my bare legs because that’s unladylike, which means I can’t do _shit_ but sit around and walk slowly.”

 _It definitely worked super well,_ Link signs, deadpan. _You’re obviously the very picture of royal propriety._

“Every time I wear trousers I feel a little flare of victory,” she says with a serene smile. “Shorter skirts aren’t that bad, though,” she adds as she returns her attentions to the egg tart. “You’d probably do all right in that blue dress you bought me as long as you didn’t have to fight anything.” Her eyes flick up to him and back down to her plate, just long enough that she can register his thoughtful expression. “If you want to borrow it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says softly. And then, a few bites later, so quiet she barely hears it, “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Zelda says, and means, “I love you.” She takes another sip of her tea to keep that confession behind her teeth, where it belongs.

After breakfast Zelda dresses in her Gerudo made clothes, feeling an intense sympathy for Link the day before, because it is nerve-wracking to imagine wearing this in public. She knows, logically, it doesn’t show that much more skin then her old ceremonial dress did--it even covers her arms, which the white dress left completely bare. There’s just something about that six-inch band of midriff on display that makes her want to cringe and cover up, lest people see the tender skin of her stomach.

“This is ridiculous,” she tells herself in the mirror. “It’s a stomach. Everyone has one, and the Gerudo aren’t going to find yours notable except for how sad and ab-less it is.” Actually… Zelda flexes in the mirror (ow) and investigates her abdomen to find that, under the softness, she has the beginnings of definition. There’s the light shape of muscles, and firm resistance when she pokes it with her fingers. Maybe the Gerudo won’t be entirely unimpressed after all.

“Princess?” Link calls up from the main floor below where he’s waiting for her to finish changing. “Were you saying something to me?”

“No,” she calls back, flushing at being caught. “Just... talking to myself.”

“Oh,” he says, his footsteps moving to the base of the stairs. “Yeah, you do that sometimes.”

“You don’t have to make me sound so--” Zelda starts, half-stomping over to the staircase, and forgets what she was trying to say because when Link catches sight of her in her green silks, the look on his face is something indescribable. She tries to describe it anyway, as though she needed to catalog it for study. Brows: Up. Jaw: Dropped. Cheeks: Pink. Eyes… Well, there’s the trouble. They keep tracing her from toes to face and back, glinting like sapphires. Link looks at her like she’s a stained glass window, like she’s a sunset, like she’s Hylia again, golden light pouring off her skin. He looks like her like she’s the answer to every question he’s ever had. Zelda descends the stairs with one hand on the railing, barely feeling her feet because she might as well be floating. She feels warm under his gaze, heat pooling in her gut and between her legs like summer, heart racing behind her ribs. Link doesn’t move back, and she stops on the last step, a full head above him. The silence stretches out into something as thick and heavy as a humid night with a thunderstorm about to break. Zelda glances down at his mouth without meaning to and wonders, if she kissed him, whether he’d taste like lightning.

“Do you think I’ll get those Gerudo compliments I crave?” she jokes instead, breaking the mood, and Link laughs a little wildly and takes a step back, the gold adornments on his Gerudo clothes jingling with the movement. _Only one way to find out,_ he signs before he digs out the slate. Zelda smiles and steps in close, wrapping her arms around his neck and discovering, in the process, exactly how much of their bare skin gets to touch when they’re both dressed like this.

It’s a _lot_ of bare skin.

Like… A lot.

 _Fuck_.

Zelda ducks her head against Link’s shoulder and keeps her breathing under control with furious attention, because she can feel his warm, scarred skin against her stomach and under her hands and cheek. Why, she wonders, didn’t anyone _tell_ her how good it felt to hug skin-to-skin like this? Maybe if she’d been prepared for this moment she’d be able to respond like a normal, appropriate person, instead of like a fucking pervert who can feel every heartbeat in her fucking clitoris. _Control_ , she reminds herself as Link pulls her close. It takes him longer than usual to get the slate to work, and the sweet relief of the blue lights comes for her not a moment too soon. She was _painfully_ close to humping his leg. This is starting to get _embarrassing._

The shrine in Gerudo Town isn’t as conveniently located as some of the others, and they struggle through the hundred yards or so of sand over to the entrance. Zelda’s forgotten how hard it is to walk on loose sand, and it takes her longer than she expected to get the hang of it again. “I think we need to start traveling to different terrain on a regular basis,” she tells him as they approach the gate and the two tall, muscular women on either side of it. “It’ll probably be good for my recovery to practice walking on different surfaces.”

 _I live to serve_ , he tells her, raising a hand in greeting to the Gerudo guards. One nods as they walk through, and Zelda lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding once they’re in the square. She knows, logically, that Link has been in Gerudo Town dozens of times, and has just as much right to be here as any vai, but the situation is strangely nerve-wracking. The anxiety comes back as he strides confidently across the main square and up the steps to the palace, which is _also_ staffed with guards. This, again, proves baseless, as they give him barely a glance as he walks inside. Clearly he’s known here, and that makes her breathe a little easier.

Then, of course, she catches sight of Lady Riju and gets hit with a simultaneous wave of nervousness and sympathy. She’s so _young!_ Zelda looks at the girl on the throne and sees a glimpse of what her life might have been in another world, left orphaned as a child with the weight of her people on her shoulders. Gerudo Town looks safe, the people happy, and Zelda knows Link tamed Vah Naboris only with the help of this child. She wonders whether she would have done as well, in the same position.

“Link!” Lady Riju says, raising a hand in greeting. “Welcome back!”

“Are you finally returning the chief’s Thunder Helm?” demands the imposing woman next to the throne, her voice a low rumble. Zelda looks, inevitably, at her muscular shoulders and visible abs, and wonders how she ever thought she didn’t like women.

“Lady Riju,” Link says, respectfully. “Buliara,” he says to the guard with a polite nod. He drops to one knee, bows his head, and just like Zelda _knew_ he fucking would, says, “Presenting her Royal Highness, Princess Zelda Luciana Hyrule; High Priestess of the Temple of Time; Golden Daughter of Hylia; She Who Seals the Darkness; Last Scion of the Royal Line.”

The silence in the room has a shocked quality to it, like everyone but Link wants to respond but doesn’t know what to say. Zelda didn’t bother putting on the veil with her outfit that morning, so she works very hard to keep her expression neutral, instead of rolling her eyes or glaring at her knight. “Link insists on using the formal introductions in spite of my multiple requests to the contrary,” she says into the echoing hall, not quite keeping the exasperation out of her voice. “Hello, Lady Riju. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Your Highness!” Riju says, climbing down out of her throne (which, Zelda notices, has a booster seat sized for the girl, which is so adorable she wants to cry) and bobbing a perfect curtsy. “You look just like Urbosa’s drawings!” Riju frowns and taps her chin. “Except for the hair. Is that new?”

“Link cut it,” Zelda confirms, clasping Riju’s hand and dropping into a curtsy as well. “It was absolutely wrecked after my time in the castle, and it turns out I like it shorter anyway.”

“He’s just full of surprising skills, isn’t he?” Riju asks, cocking her head at the him in question as he rubs the back of his neck and fidgets. Zelda goggles, a little bit, and Riju catches her expression. “Oh, yes, we all know about Link,” she whispers, leaning in. “The guards just pretend they don’t hear anything. He did us a great favor, so as long as he follows the rules we don’t care.”

Zelda has the urge, for a moment, to explain that it goes deeper than that, to point out that Link ought to have a place here regardless. She keeps her mouth shut, though, for dual reasons. One, it’s Link’s business to tell people if he wants them to know, and two, Lady Riju is in charge of Gerudo Town, not Zelda. Link seems perfectly comfortable with it, anyway, so she pushes that impulse aside and moves on, since Riju isn’t done speaking.

“This is perhaps going to sound silly, seeing as you are here, in front of me, and alive,” Riju continues, clasping Zelda’s hand in both of hers, “but: Is Calamity Ganon defeated? Has Urbosa been avenged?”

“Yes,” Zelda says, her grip firm, her shoulders back. “Thoroughly.”

Lady Riju smiles, her teeth flashing like light from a blade, shorter than Zelda, still, but every inch a Gerudo warrior. “Good,” she says, a predatory gleam in her eyes. “We shall spread the word.” She pauses, her gaze going a bit softer, and asks, “What shall we say about your return, your Highness?”

Zelda sighs deeply and releases Riju’s hands to rub her temples. “Honestly? I’m not sure,” she admits. “I’m still figuring that out. I’m not going to just march in and demand to be crowned Queen and be given tribute when I don’t even know where the intact villages still are.”

“I know where they are,” Link offers from somewhere behind her, and Zelda, Riju, and Buliara all snort simultaneously. “I know you know where they are, Link,” Zelda says, raising her eyes to the ceiling in supplication. “That’s not the point.”

“I was just _saying_ ,” he mutters. Zelda wishes she had a sock to throw at him.

“Well, Princess,” Riju says, climbing gracefully back up onto her throne. “You’ve found at least one of the intact settlements. What do you want to know about Gerudo Town? And do you have any good stories about Lady Urbosa?” She grins, suddenly a twelve year old girl again, and adds, “Is it true she was the best sand seal racer of her time?”

“She was,” Zelda confirms. “Except the one time Daruk dared her to run the course after she’d had too many Noble Pursuits, and she accidentally drove herself directly into a stand of voltfruit.” She leans in close to whisper, “There were cactus spines _everywhere_.”

“What did she do?” Riju asks, entranced.

“She stood up and told us all it was a Gerudo tradition to drive directly into voltfruit, as a rite of passage, and refused to ever admit it had been an accident.” The answer comes from Link, not from Zelda, and he looks as surprised as anyone else to hear it come out of his mouth. He blinks and finishes, slowly, “The next morning she was so hungover she ate five steak omelets and then fell asleep at the table.” He laughs, his eyes lighting up above the veil. “I just remembered that.”

“Well,” Zelda says, unable to stop smiling at him. “Let’s find out what else jogs your memory, shall we?”

Speaking with Lady Riju is easier and harder than speaking with King Dorephon. Easier, because she has so much in common with the girl--both of them losing their mothers so young and taking on the mantle of leadership before they felt ready, both of them doing their best to live up to the expectations of their people, both of them looking to Urbosa for inspiration and guidance. Harder, because she doesn’t _know_ Riju, and because she feels somehow responsible for her situation. It’s ridiculous, she knows, there’s definitely nothing she could have done to save Riju’s mother, but she can’t help but carry guilt. Perhaps if things had gone differently a hundred years ago then today this girl would be able to be just a girl, and not also a chief… But if things had gone differently she wouldn’t be here, now. She wouldn’t be traveling with Link. She wouldn’t be free. She wouldn’t, Zelda thinks, be _happy._ It takes an effort, but she takes the past and pushes it, firmly, to the past.

They talk about Urbosa, and the Gerudo, and about the challenges they face in the current Hyrule. They talk about the vai to go out to find husbands, and the voe who occasionally demand to be let into the town as though they think they’re going to be the exception to a long-held tradition. (Zelda tells Riju about Bozai, to Link’s intense embarrassment, and the girl laughs until she curls up, gasping and clutching her stomach, “Oh, no, stop, it hurts, I can’t--” and wheezes with laughter again. Even Buliara cracks a smile at that one.) They talk about trade, and the rare merchants who make it to Gerudo Town, and the challenges the shopkeepers have keeping supplies in stock. They also talk about Urbosa and the other Champions, and about sand seal racing, and that leads to a trip down to meet Riju’s personal sand seal. Zelda feeds Patricia fruit and brushes her fur and tells her what a good sand seal she is. When she looks up she finds Link leaning against a pillar, watching her with fond eyes and relaxed shoulders. For some reason Zelda flushes and looks away, which is ridiculous, but nothing makes sense around him anymore so she’s sort of getting used to it.

“I insist on welcoming you properly,” Riju tells Zelda as they walk back up to the throne room, “but the kitchens need time to prepare an appropriate feast. Will you stay in town until dinner?”

“I’d love to,” Zelda says, and Riju smiles brightly, the child peeking out under the chief. “Excellent,” she says, clapping. “I will see you then!”

“Lady Riju has given you permission to visit any part of the palace or town you wish,” Buliara informs them flatly as Riju heads upstairs. “Go with our blessing, and stay out of trouble.” The last she directs at Link, who looks vaguely offended above the veil.

“Have you actually gotten in trouble in Gerudo Town?” Zelda asks quietly as they walk out into the main square.

“Barely,” Link says. “I’ve gotten into less trouble than some of these ladies, I can promise you that.”

“Well,” Zelda says, linking her arm with his. “Show me your favorite places to get into not-trouble.”

“I live to serve,” he drawls, and tugs her deeper into the square. Link knows all the shop owners by name, which she discovers as he introduces her to all of them. (Thankfully, he doesn’t use the formal greeting, or dinner at the palace would be ready by the time they were done.) They end up in the jewelry store, where he tries to convince her to pick out something, “As a memento, Princess!” and she points out repeatedly that she can just continue borrowing his jewelry, since he already owns one of everything in the shop.

“Oh, already at the jewelry sharing stage of the relationship? That’s so sweet,” the owner says, leaning over the counter with a smile.

“Um--” Link starts.

“I don’t--” Zelda says simultaneously.

“We’re not--” Link tries, and the Gerudo woman waves off their stammering and says, “ _Newly_ at the jewelry wearing stage, I see, I see. If I can make a suggestion? It’s good to have doubles of your favorite pieces, both because it means you have a spare if something gets lost, and also because then you have the option to match.” She gives them both a once-over and smiles. “You two would look _adorable_ in matching sets.”

“Thank you,” Zelda says, regaining her composure with an effort. “We’ll take a pair of opal earrings.”

 _Why opal?_ Link asks as they walk away from the shop, the owner waving goodbye from the door.

“They were the first ones I saw and I couldn’t remember the name for any other gem,” Zelda admits. “I just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.”

Link laughs and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “I regret to inform you, Princess, that you are ridiculous.”

“Someone has to give you a break from being the ridiculous one occasionally,” she says magnanimously. “I decided to take on that burden. Truly selfless of me, really. Maybe I’m the real hero.”

“I would expect nothing else from the one who holds the sword that seals the darkness, occasionally, when I need my hands free,” Link says, steering her toward an alley. “I, however, am but a frail and delicate princess and I find myself desperately in need of sustenance.”

“I am not frail or delicate!” Zelda snaps, knocking her hip into his. Her center of gravity is lower, so this successfully throws him off balance (good) but his arm is still around her shoulders so when he stumbles, he takes her with him (bad). Link crashes into a wall, turning as he hits so he catches her, and then everything goes very quiet and still as they stand face to face and chest to chest (good? And bad?). Somehow his hands ended up on her waist, skin to skin, and she has one hand on his bare shoulder and the other braced against the wall next to his head. The desert is hot but Zelda? In this moment, Zelda is hotter. She bites the inside of her cheek. _Control._

“See?” she says, in a voice much softer than she intends. “Not frail.” All she can see of Link’s face is his eyes, which is good because otherwise she thinks she’d be staring at his mouth. His throat works in silence, eyes hot and deep and so intense she might burn up. One of his hands inches around her side until his fingertips rest against her lower back. They flex there, against her skin.

“I never thought you were frail, Princess,” he breathes, the veil barely moving. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

“Liar.” Zelda feels the blush roll across her face and wishes, for a moment, she’d decided to wear the damn veil. She feels exposed, more than just physically. Link looks like he sees right through her, and she wants it to keep happening as much as she wants it to stop.

“I’d never lie to you,” he says, even quieter this time, so she has to lean in to hear it, and Hylia save her she’s going to kiss him right through the fucking veil. She’s going to shove him against this wall and rip the fucking veil off him with her fucking teeth and kiss his beautiful fucking mouth and they’ll both get kicked out of Gerudo Town and she _doesn’t care_. Zelda can see the next thirty seconds of her life in vivid detail, and it involves tongues.

“I was, for example,” Link says, a little too loudly, his grip shifting, arms moving so she has to take a step back, “telling the truth about being hungry.” Again, she can only judge by his eyes, but he looks a little.. panicked, maybe? “I was going to take you somewhere for lunch. Do you want lunch? There are places we could get lunch, or there’s a cooking station where I could make something. For lunch.” As he’s talking he moves, a little wildly, extricating himself from between her and the wall, taking her hand, and walking so she has to walk or be pulled. Zelda swallows down a scream of raw sexual frustration and forces her shoulders to relax.

“Lunch would be great,” she says, instead of hauling him into an even more deserted alley, lifting him up on a crate, and pinning him there. “Let’s get lunch somewhere.”

“Great,” he says, and she suspects if she could see his smile under the mask it would be forced. Zelda sighs and goes where he leads her and wonders what it’s going to take to get them somewhere past whatever _this_ is. She wonders if he even wants more than whatever _this_ is.

She doesn’t get an answer to that question, although she does get lunch. Link takes her to a place with a shaded courtyard that sells small plates of various treats. There’s herbed cubes of cheese and olives and little flatbreads and fruit all chopped up and mixed with mint and honey. Zelda hasn’t had Gerudo food in over a century, and it’s as delicious as she remembers. (She also gets to watch Link eat in a veil, which is amazing. He somehow gets everything under it without spilling or getting grease on the fabric or _anything._ Zelda thinks his greatest skill might actually be eating.) After lunch they somehow (unsurprisingly) end up in the barracks, where Zelda finds herself training archery and spear work with the Gerudo for several sweaty, intimidating hours. Unlike some of their other training sessions, Link grabs a spear and jumps in. He fights three guards to a standstill at once before he switches to a sword and shield, offering to spar anyone interested. A line forms, _immediately_.

“The Captain offered to let her join the guard, you know,” Zelda’s sparring partner says, a veiled woman named Leena.

“Really?” Zelda asks, accepting the offered cup of water with gratitude and curiosity. “What spurred that?”

“She stole the Thunder Helm back from the Yiga and defeated their leader,” Leena says. “Also, she found Barta twice and didn’t snitch the second time, although the Captain doesn’t know that and I’d appreciate you keeping it to yourself.” Leena eyes Link as he disarms his current opponent without apparent effort. “Never seen a Hylian who could fight like her. She’s tiny but she’s so _fast._ ”

“She trained,” Zelda says, climbing back to her feet and hefting the wooden practice spear. “A _lot_. Come on, I want to go back to that leg sweep you were showing me.”

Leena groans as she stands up. “You’re worse than Babi.”

“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.” Zelda salutes with the spear, sets her feet, and lunges. During her next break Link finds her as she’s running a wet cloth over the back of her neck, both trying to cool down and mop up some of the sweat. She’s giving heavy consideration to facing a corner and hiking up her top so she can get at the absolute sweaty _waterfall_ between her breasts but hasn’t quite worked out those logistics.

 _Your form is great_ , he tells her, leaning against the water pump. _You could probably take on a bokoblin now. Not that I’m going to_ **_let_ ** _you, but I thought you’d like to know._

“Thank you,” Zelda says, flushing with exertion and praise. “I’m really taking it seriously.”

 _I know_ , he says, eyes soft above the veil. It’s really unfair how attractive he is in everything he wears, and it’s also deeply unfair how good he looks all sweaty and rumpled. _We’ll still have a few hours before dinner once we’re done here. What do you want to do?_

Zelda looks at him, her knight offering the world up in his hands, and wonders what she did to deserve this. “I’m having a great time so far,” she says, which is the truth. “Surprise me.”

She can’t see his mouth, but she knows from his eyes he’s smiling. _I live to serve, Princess._

When archery is over and her arms are limp dough, they wave goodbye to the barracks and head back into Gerudo Town proper. They’re barely out of eyesight when Link tugs on Zelda’s hand, pulling her against him, and winks. “Hold on,” he says, which is all the warning she gets before the blue lights of the Sheikah slate whirl around them. When she rematerializes it’s in the remains of a massive, beautifully preserved skeleton, and Zelda takes a step back so she can crane her neck back to see it.

“Oh, it’s spectacular, Link! I’ve heard of the leviathans but I’ve never seen the fossils!” She turns in a circle, eyes up, trying to examine as much of it as she can. When her turn brings her back to Link again, he’s laughing silently, shoulders shaking, and unhooks his veil so she can see his brilliant smile.

“Princess,” he says, grabbing her by both shoulders, delight on every inch of his face, fingertips on her bare skin burning like the desert sun. “You fucking bookworm. Never change.” He drops his hands and tilts his head to the left, signing, _I actually brought you here to meet the great fairy Tera, but we can climb on the skeleton if you want._

“Oh,” Zelda says, following his motion to find a fairy fountain a little way off, in the shade of the skeleton. She hadn’t even noticed, with all her attention on the huge fossil. “Well,” she says, recovering from her mild embarrassment, “I see no reason we can’t do both. Let’s start with Tera.”

Tera, like her sister, is a vision in jewels and basically nothing else. Also, like her sister, she is an immense flirt, happy to bestow her attentions on Link and Zelda equally. She has a slightly better memory for history, although it’s mostly Gerudo history, given her location. The giant woman happily reclines against the edge of her fountain and tells stories about previous Gerudo chiefs and their visits and the clothes they were wearing. Zelda idly paddles her bare feet in the water as she listens, leaning back against Link’s solid chest and wonderfully content.

They explore the giant skeleton after they say goodbye to Tera, climbing up the jaw, the ancient bones wide enough to walk on as easily on a path. Link pulls out the slate and shows her the pictures he took of this one and the other two, one deep in an icy mountain cave and one on the edge of Death Mountain. “Each one of those researchers took it as full evidence that their pet theory was correct,” he says with a sigh. “I’m not a scientist, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“It’s definitely not,” Zelda says, one hand on the jut of a fossilized vertebrae, the other shading her eyes as she looks across the desert back toward Gerudo Town. “Some people only pay attention to the data that supports their views. It’s very unprofessional.”

“You tell ‘em, Princess.” Link takes her hand and tugs her back down the jaw. “Do you want to teleport back to town for your next surprise, or do you want me to catch us a sand seal?”

“Sand seal,” Zelda says immediately.

The ride back to town is hot, exhilarating, and more intimate than Zelda had expected, which was foolish of her, really. They have to share the same shield, feet braced together, Link behind her with his arms around her as they both hold on to the leather strap. She manages not to embarrass herself with her physical reaction, partially because seal sledding is so delightfully fun she’s too busy laughing, and partially because it’s a lot of work to stay upright. Outside the gate she dismounts the shield with wobbly legs and staggers back into the town.

“I never got to do that Before,” she pants, leaning against the wall in the shaded side of the street. “They thought it wasn’t befitting a princess. Fuck that shit, I want to do it again!”

 _Later, Princess,_ Link tells her, one hand lightly resting on her low back as he steers her through the streets. _I think I have time for one more surprise before dinner._

This surprise turns out to be a massage at the inn, and Zelda could fucking _kiss him_. She undresses and wipes the sweat and sand off her skin with a damp cloth before she climbs onto the bed. Cool air whispers against her shoulders as she breathes, face-down, head in the pillowed cradle. By the time the Gerudo innkeeper comes in she’s almost asleep. The massage is blissfully excruciating to the point that Zelda loses track of the passage of time and stops thinking entirely, only vaguely coming back to herself after she’s turned over onto her back with two strong hands working at the base of her skull.

“Oh, so you’ve come back to us,” the innkeeper says quietly, fingers on Zelda’s scalp. “Seemed like you went somewhere nice, little vai.”

“I went nowhere at all,” Zelda mumbles. “It was wonderful.”

The Gerudo chuckles and pushes her thumbs firmly into Zelda’s neck. “Your vai told me you’d been working hard and I should give you my very best treatment. That’s a special one you have, there. Make sure you hold on to her.”

“I’m _trying_ ,” Zelda says without meaning to, so relaxed her tongue slips loose. “She keeps making it weird, though. I don’t know if she wants what I want.” Oh, no, she should stop talking now. “I think she might just want to be friends.” _Dammit._

The innkeeper laughs again, rich as a bell. “Oh, little vai,” she says, combing her fingers through Zelda’s hair as she finishes her work. “Friends don’t look at friends the way your vai looks at you. Now, make sure you drink plenty of water for the rest of the day so your muscles have what they need to recover.” She’s gone before Zelda can ask for clarification on either statement. Zelda blinks up at the ceiling for a few confused minutes, sighs, and climbs out of the bed to find her clothes.

Dinner turns out to be a feast for the whole town, laid out in the main square as the shadows lengthen across the stone. Lady Riju doesn’t mention Zelda or Link in her speech, only announcing the end of the Calamity as the cause for the celebration, but as they’re seated at the head table with her it’s clear they’re important visitors. Zelda eats and chats with Riju and Link and the guards she trained with as they stop by, her heart as light as she ever remembers it being. Night has fully fallen by the time the music and dancing starts, and Zelda turns to Link to ask a question and finds him intently watching the progress of a woman carrying a tray of drinks through the crowd.

“What--” Zelda starts to ask, and he stands up and darts away in a fluid motion. Bemused, Zelda watches him glide between the taller women, working subtly closer to the tray. The woman carrying it turns to speak to someone, and in her moment of distraction he deftly nabs two glasses before he melts back into the crowd. He reappears at her elbow, supremely pleased with himself, and sits down on his cushion.

“Here,” he says, setting one glass down on the table in front of her with a clink. Condensation beads on the sides, a droplet working its way down the glass to land on the table. “Since it’s a special occasion and all.”

“Link,” Zelda asks, eyeing the liquid inside. “What did you bring us?”

“I,” he says, his eyes dancing, “have been waiting over a hundred years to try a Noble Pursuit.” Link leans in so he can whisper, “I’m a hundred and twenty fucking years old, I’m old enough to be the bartender’s grandmother and she always tells me I’m too young and refuses to sell them to me. I saved everyone in this town probably at least four times and I still can’t buy a fucking drink.” He waggles the glass still in his hand at her, eyes creasing with the size of his grin. “Couldn’t stop me from buying this one, could she?”

“Because you stole it,” Zelda says, lifting her glass and giving it a curious sniff. Even from a distance the alcohol shoots straight into her sinuses, and she suppresses a sneeze and holds it away from her face warily. “How strong is this going to be?”

“They were giving them away,” Link says primly. “I didn’t steal it. As to your second question…” He clinks his glass against hers, his entire body language a dare. “Only one way to find out.”

Oh, this is a bad idea. Zelda steels her shoulders and lifts her chin. “On three?” she asks.

Link nods, pulling his veil delicately out of the way.

“Okay,” Zelda says. “One… Two… Three!” They lift the cocktails to their mouths at the same time, and the first impression Zelda has is of a cold, refreshing fruity flavor. She has just enough time to think, _That’s not so bad_ , when the hot-cold burn hits, like someone mixed spicy peppers with ice chuchu jelly and shot all of it up her nose and into her throat. It’s _terrible_ , but she’s not a coward so she forces her way through the end of the glass, thumps it down on the table, and wheeze-coughs violently.

“Fuck,” Link says, half doubled over, voice rough. “Oh fuck, how does it burn hot and cold at the same time?”

“I can feel it in my stomach,” Zelda says, one hand on her abdomen as a wave of burning warmth rolls through her. “That’s so weird, Link, I ate so much. Why do I feel it in my stomach?”

“Why is this the thing that tempted her back out of the desert?” Link asks, and she has no idea what she’s talking about. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she tells him. He waves a hand, dismissing the question, and Zelda takes another bite of a honeyed puff pastry topped with fruit.

“It was pretty good before the burning started,” she muses. Link nods in agreement, looking at his empty glass. “It burned a lot,” he says, and then turns his gaze on her. “You want another?”

“Yes,” Zelda says, and pictures his grin under the veil.

Zelda stops at two, because by that point she feels like the desert has become an ocean, rolling about beneath her. Link has possibly more than two, not that she feels capable of counting, or really cares because everything is so _funny._ She ends up dancing with the Gerudo, partnered and solo, multiple strong hands there to catch her when she inevitably stumbles. Leena half-carries her back to her seat at one point. “Here,” she says, leaning Zelda against a slouching Link and pouring them each a glass of water. “You should drink this, and then you should go to bed.”

“Link,” Zelda says, shaking his shoulder as she attempts to pick up her glass. “Leena’s right. We should go to bed.” It takes both hands to pick up the water, and she drains it clumsily. Well, it’s only water, it doesn’t matter if she spills it on her shirt, not really.

“Bed?” Link asks, taking a couple of tries to focus on his own water glass.

“Yepppp,” Zelda says, popping the P as he drinks. “I’m sleepy.”

“Okay,” he says blearily, setting down the empty glass. Link stares at her for a long moment, swaying slightly, and loudly whispers, “Zelda, I think ‘m drunk.”

“Oh,” she says, leaning in and bonking their heads together accidentally. “Can you keep a secret?” she whispers at nearly her normal speaking voice. Link nods, and she continues, “I think I’m drunk, too.”

He stares at her, the gears whirring behind his eyes as he figures that out, and then he nods. “If you’re drunk then, as your knight, it’s my job to put you to bed. Right?”

“Right,” Zelda says, climbing back to her feet. She manages to find Riju, by some miracle, and practically falls onto the throne as she gives her a hug. “Lady Riju,” she says, clawing at formality with both hands. “Thank you for the party. We had a great time. I’m drunk now so Link’s putting me to bed.”

Lady Riju laughs like Zelda just said something extremely funny, and Zelda grins at her, unsure of the joke. “Thank you so much for coming,” Riju says, patting Zelda on the shoulder. “Come back anytime. Buliara would say to drink some water before you go to sleep.”

“Wayyyy ahead of you, Riju,” Link says, walking almost normally as he hands a second glass of water to Zelda with exaggerated caution. “Cheers.” He clinks his glass against Zelda’s and chugs it in one go. Zelda watches his throat with appreciation as he swallows, forgetting about the glass in her hands until he finishes drinking and nudges it towards her face. “Oh, right,” she says, and drains it in an imitation of Link, but with slightly more spilling. Link takes the empty glass from her, blinks at his full hands, and squints thoughtfully at Zelda. She can see his thought process, as he realizes he needs his hands to use the slate, but can’t use the slate with glasses in his hands. It’s hilarious, and Zelda starts giggling.

“Here,” Link says, shoving the glasses at Riju. “Thanks, chief. You’re the best!” He gives her a little salute as he pulls Zelda in against him and fumbles with the slate, and when they disappear it’s to Riju’s ringing laughter.

The blue lights fade and the first thing Zelda notices is the cold, and the second thing is the view. They’re very high up, and she clutches Link closer, wary of somehow falling. “Whoops,” he says, his chest rumbling against hers. “Finger slipped.” The blue lights take them again, and this time they appear on the familiar shrine in Hateno.

“You,” Zelda says, slapping at his shoulder. “You are so drunk you took us to the wrong place!” She’s giggling again. She can’t seem to stop.

“It’s the Hateno Tower!” Link protests, slinging an arm around her and steering them both toward home. “Anyone could have made that mistake!”

“Sure, they could,” Zelda says, reaching up to unhook his veil and almost punching him in the face. It’s worth it, though, to see his smile, his cheeks flushed from the drinking. “But you’re the Hero of Hyrule. You’re not supposed to make mistakes.”

“It was a brief sightseeing stop on our way home,” Link amends, going for dignified and only slightly failing. “Now shhh, there’s a bridge and I gotta concentrate.”

They make it across the bridge safely and into the house without falling down. Getting ready for bed is a comedy of errors--Zelda trips more than once, and Link gets his head stuck in the sleeve of his nightshirt and needs her help to get it out. They manage, somehow, and Link sprawls on his back in the exact center of the bed and refuses to move. “‘S my bed,” he insists, one arm thrown over his eyes. “I can sleep where I want.”

“Fine,” Zelda says, trying to climb in gracefully and falling on his stomach instead. “I’ll make do somehow.” She flops around until she’s half on top of him and tucks her head into his neck. Finally having achieved a comfortable horizontal position, she lets out a deep breath of satisfaction. “I did it.”

“Good job, Princess,” Link says, barely audible, and tugs the blankets up over her shoulders before he wraps an arm around her back. Maybe, just maybe, she feels him kiss the crown of her head, but she’s asleep so fast that it might have been a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just two disaster bisexuals being so disastrous everyone around them can seeeee itttttt
> 
> Have I mentioned recently how much I love Gerudo Town? It's just, like, [clenches fist] the dream.


	15. Chapter 15

Zelda’s head hurts. Not a lot, but enough that she has absolutely no desire to open her eyes to the bright morning sun streaming in the window. Why didn’t they pull the curtains last night when they went to bed? Ugh. She turns her face more firmly into the pillow to block out the light and realizes that, while her pillow usually smells like Link, it’s not usually breathing and warm and made of muscle. What? Eyes still shut, Zelda carefully investigates with the rest of her senses. Taste: Kinda stale from a night of hard sleep. Not useful at the moment. Smell: All Link, salt and leather and fresh grass, with a little extra tang of sweat. He probably needs a bath. Hearing: Slow, careful breaths that aren’t her own, from somewhere next to her right ear. Touch: Oh, this is a big one. Now that she’s more alert she feels him under her, laying on his back. Sometime in the night Zelda ended up basically on top of him, one leg thrown over and between his, her face curled into his neck, one arm loosely around his shoulders. She can feel his chest moving up and down under hers with his breathing. It’s morning, and Link has actually stayed in bed with her. It’s a miracle. She’ll have to give an offering to one of the statues of Hylia later. It’s a little weird that his arms aren’t around her, and that his muscles are so tense. Maybe she’s in an uncomfortable position for him? Zelda does sort of a half-stretch without moving and shifts a little, to see if she can find a better cuddle, and her thigh moves--

Link gasps under her, clearly trying to stifle it, and Zelda freezes as she finally parses the pressure against her thigh. It’s Link’s cock, and it’s hard, and she’s laying on top of it, and Link is awake and _extremely_ aware of that fact. Her heart pounds and her pussy clenches and she squeezes her eyes further shut and tries not to think about the heat of his erection and the very few layers of clothing separating them. She’s had dreams that start like this, but usually in the dream Link isn’t practically vibrating with nerves and tension. Hylia save her, what she really wants to do is grind her thigh against his cock again and see what sounds he makes. She wants to shift her leg until she’s straddling him properly and feel him against her cunt. She wants to reach down and cup him through the linen of his pajama pants and get the full measure of him.

Zelda does none of these things. Zelda instead props her head up on his chest and asks, “Is this why you keep getting out of bed so early?”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Link says, covering his beet-red face with both hands. “Oh my gods, Princess, I am _so sorry._ ”

“Link--” Zelda tries, but he’s still talking. “It’s so inappropriate, I didn’t mean to, I just couldn’t get you off me this morning and I didn’t know what to do--”

“Link--” Zelda tries again, but he doesn’t seem to hear her and continues babbling, “--I promise I wouldn’t--it just happens--I didn’t--I don’t--I understand if you don’t want to share anymore--”

“ _Link,_ ” Zelda says, shoving her hand under his so she can cover his mouth. “It’s fine. I’m not offended.” She’s aroused, which definitely isn’t the same as being offended, but that stays behind her teeth.

Link lifts his hands from his face and squints warily down at her, embarrassment radiating off him like heat. “You’re not?”

Zelda shakes her head and gets an elbow on his chest so she can prop her chin on her fist. “I know what morning wood is,” she tells him matter-of-factly, acutely aware in every fiber of her being of the hot throb of his trapped erection against her thigh. _Control._

He drops his head back to the pillow and covers his face again. “Kill me now,” he mutters into his hands, but Zelda refuses to be dissuaded. “I’m perfectly aware that getting into bed with a healthy Hylian with a functioning external reproductive system carries with it the risk of an awkward, unintended boner.”

“How did that sentence start out so academic and end so not?” Link asks plaintively, voice muffled. Zelda tugs his hand away from his face until he makes the world’s most humiliated eye contact. “Link,” she says, gently, “It’s really fine. I’m not taking this as a--as a statement of _intent_.” _Unless you mean it that way_ , she whispers internally, but if she scares him off now she might never get to share a bed with him again and she can’t risk that. “Now,” she says aloud, “I’m going to get off you, and I’m going to try not to knee you in the balls as I go, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t use your newfound freedom to flee the bed like a coward, okay?” She waits for Link’s nod, and gets her hands under her. “Also,” she says, “I’m probably going to… Um… Rub against it a little as I move, for which I apologize in advance.”

Link lifts up the extra pillow and covers his face like he’s trying to smother himself. “I am too hungover for this,” she thinks she hears him say into the fabric. “You and me both,” she mutters, and rolls herself off him as quickly as she can. Zelda ends up on her back, shoulder to shoulder with him, and mentally files away the little sound he made and the shudder she felt as she went. Her cunt clenches again and she can feel wetness in her underthings. _Fuck._

“So,” she says, as a desperate distraction for herself, “now that that’s all established, will you stay in bed in the morning sometimes?”

Link breathes into the pillow for a few more long moments before he sets it aside. His face is still flushed brilliantly red, but he looks slightly less tense now. “Maybe,” he hedges, and tips toward her, blue eyes cutting her direction. “Who the _hell_ taught you about morning wood?”

“Urbosa,” Zelda says succinctly, watching understanding dawn on his face. “Not exactly in so many words, but she realized pretty early on that there was no one in the castle left to have The Talk with me after my mother died, so she’s the one who taught me about my bleeding and she made sure I had access to educational biological texts.” _And lurid novels,_ Zelda doesn’t mention. She reaches for his hand and intertwines their fingers gently. “It was nice to wake up with you still here,” she tells him, her voice soft. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I would like it if it happened again, regardless of--” She tips her head slightly downward and Link shuts his eyes with a longsuffering air.

“I’ll… I’ll think about it,” Link says, and takes his hand out of hers so he can lever himself upright. “Uuuugh,” he groans, rubbing his temples. “I’m hungover, hungry, _and_ I smell. I can’t imagine why you were happy to find me in bed this morning.” He stands and staggers for the stairs, his back to her, not waiting for an answer. “I’m washing up before breakfast.”

“Okay,” Zelda says, and stares at the ceiling. His footsteps pad down the stairs, then across the floor, and she holds her breath. The moment the door to the bathing room shuts behind him she works her hand into her underthings and strokes her clit. It’s hard and swollen, so slick and hot between her legs that she can slip two fingers inside herself without any warmup. She doesn’t even have time to think up a fantasy, not when she can still feel the length of him on her skin and smell him on the sheets all around her. _I want him in me_ , she thinks in the instant before she comes. She has just enough sense to smother her face in the pillow to muffle the sounds she makes, the whole experience so raw and wild it leaves her a little dazed. _Fuck_. Okay. That happened. Zelda takes her face back out of the pillow, still occasionally clenching with an aftershock, and calms her breathing. Frankly, she’s wound up enough that she could probably go for two, but she doesn’t know how long Link’s going to be in the bath. She’s also hungry, so she rolls out of bed, slips downstairs to the water closet, and washes her hands.

Cooking isn’t Zelda’s strongest suit, but you don’t watch someone make every meal every day for ages without learning something. She builds the fire back up and puts the kettle on, then hunts down a loaf of day-old bread and some eggs. By the time Link comes back out of the bathing room, hair damp and looking much more comfortable, Zelda has two pain elixirs on the counter, a pot of tea waiting on the table, a pile of fried toast absolutely dripping in butter, and she’s dozen scrambled eggs nearly ready to take off the fire.

 _Hylia keep you in her golden hands,_ Link signs with a groan, dropping into his seat and pouring himself a mug of tea with three sugars and enough milk to make the spoon almost stand up. Zelda puts the egg pan on a trivet and sets the elixirs down with a clink. _I don’t deserve you,_ Link tells her, snatching up one of the elixirs and knocking it back.

“Disagree,” Zelda says, filling her plate from the pile of food she feels quite proud of creating. “You deserve me exactly the right amount.” She takes a bite of scrambled egg on toast and moans in bliss, the salty butter and crunchy fried bread the best thing she’s ever eaten. Link makes a sort of grunt of agreement around the greasy scrambled egg sandwich he’s created. They don’t speak again until the pan is empty and the pot of tea is empty and the elixir bottles are empty. Zelda moves her plate out of the way and lays her head down on the table. The elixir hasn’t quite kicked in yet, and now that she’s eaten she’s tired again.

“Do you want to just go back to bed?” she asks the cool wood under her cheek.

“Maybe,” Link says, his voice cautious. “How embarrassing is it going to be for me?”

“I promise I won’t make more awkward conversation about your genitals.” Zelda holds up one hand above her head in the sacred gesture of vow-taking. “I swear it to Hylia.”

“You’re really not helping,” Link complains, pushing back from the table. She lifts her head to watch him go, and he pauses with one foot on the stairs. _Are you coming?_

“Oh!” Zelda says, scrambling after him. “I didn’t realize you’d accepted my deal.”

 _I swear if you imply one more thing I’m changing my mind,_ Link tells her, but the threat has no teeth since he’s already under the covers. Zelda shuts the curtains and climbs in after him, curling into his side.

“And we’re still training later.” He says it like she’s going to argue, and Zelda smothers a smile and presses her cheek into his shoulder as he wraps his arm behind her back. “I expected nothing else,” she says. Link huffs and doesn’t say anything else. Zelda promptly falls asleep.

\---

They fall back into the routine they’ve developed--travel in the mornings, training in the afternoons. Zelda continues to wake to an empty bed, which is disappointing. She gave him the option, though, she reminds herself. She’s not going to force, manipulate or beg him into doing anything he’s not comfortable with. If she spends a lot of her time wishing he was comfortable with it, well, that’s her business. In more pleasant developments, Link insists on teaching her to use the paraglider, which is as fun as it is terrifying. It turns out they can both use it at once, if they’re careful about it, which opens up their travel options considerably. They mostly visit villages and stables--anywhere with a somewhat reliable population. Zelda has the shape of a plan in her mind, now, about what she might want to do with herself and her status in Hyrule. She still needs to know more to turn the shape of the plan into an actual plan, and that means talking to the people. Link is a huge help, since he practically knows every single person in the new Hyrule by name. “Did you help _everyone_ in the country?” she asks him in Lurelin Village as they walk away from a woman named Kiana, who remembers Link from the time he apparently did her shopping for her.

 _I mean, if you count stopping the Calamity, then yes._ He grins at her, eyes as blue as the ocean behind him. _If you don’t count stopping the Calamity, then it’s still probably close to yes._

“Hero,” Zelda accuses, the corner of her mouth curling up. Link shrugs. _Don’t call me the Hero of Legend if you don’t want me heroing, Princess._

“I wasn’t complaining.” Zelda speeds up and hooks her elbow through his, towing him along behind her. “Now come on, I want to talk to the innkeeper.”

Later, Zelda sits on a rock with her feet in the warm salt water, a palm tree shading her from the sun, and organizes her notes in her pocket journal. Link wades up to his knees, trousers rolled up, gathering hearty snails to take back with them for dinner. She finishes a sentence and looks up at him, out across the bay, and smiles.

“Did you ever think, when you were younger, that you’d end up like this?”

Link looks up, a snail in his hand, and takes a minute to think about the question as he wades back over to add it to the pile. _Not really,_ he signs, settling down next to her. _Gods, I mean, when I was a kid I just sort of assumed I’d grow up, become a knight for a while, get married, have kids, and eventually retire to the family land like my dad. It seemed like that was what everyone did._ His hands still, and he stares off across the water, not actually looking at anything. _And then I pulled the Master Sword and I stopped thinking about the future at all._ Zelda waits, because it seems like he’s not quite done, and he finally admits, _I think I didn’t expect to survive the fight._

Zelda sets a hand on his knee and squeezes, and he pats it with a gentle smile. There’s no pain in his face, so she doesn’t push it. “I certainly never thought I’d get this,” she says, waving her hand vaguely at everything. “Sometimes I feel a little guilty for how happy and free I feel, because… Did I trade all their lives for this? I wish we could have stopped it, Before, but if we had I’d still be in the castle. I’d still be _that_ princess, and I don’t want that.”

 _That’s not how it works, Princess,_ Link tells her, and she raises a hand to forestall him. “I know, and I’m pretty good at not going down that mental road. I just think about it sometimes.” He nods and knocks his shoulder into hers. The surf surges and recedes around their feet, a gentle blanket of white noise, and Zelda lets her mind wander a little.

“Do you want children?” she asks, watching a crab scuttle by. Link shakes himself a little, like a dog casting off water, and frowns a question at her. “Earlier, you said you assumed you’d get married and have kids. Do you want that?”

“Huh,” Link says, aloud, and lays down, eyes on the sea birds circling far overhead. His thought process shows on his face, so Zelda waits patiently for him to work it through and tries not to worry about his answer. _You know,_ he starts, his hands slow, _I think I do? I like kids. It just stopped feeling like an option for so long I forgot about it, which feels ridiculous to admit._ He glances over at her, eyes like the sea. _You?_

“On a certain level it doesn’t matter if I _want_ children,” Zelda says, settling back on her elbows and not letting her relief show on her face. “I’m the only living descendant of Hylia. I have a duty to my country and my people to make sure her power is passed along, so there’s always a living goddess and always a hero when the land needs them.” Link looks vaguely horrified, hands starting to move in what she assumes is a protest, so she finishes, “That said, I do want them for their own sake. Just not anytime soon. I have enough on my plate right now.”

 _And I’d have to turn the storage room into a nursery or something,_ Link signs, clearly without thinking about it, and then shoots upright with a red face. _Not that you’d be living with me if you had kids, I just meant--if you had them soon--like,_ **_soon_ ** _soon--you’d need_ **_somewhere_ ** _to put a baby, right? That’s all I meant--_

Zelda cackles. She can’t help it--her poor knight, and his blushing, earnest face, and his frantic hands, trying to explain an offhand comment with increasingly desperate motions. “I don’t know,” she gasps, a hand over her mouth. “Babies are pretty small, I think I could just keep it in a drawer at first.”

Link gives her the most horrified look he can muster. _Babies don’t go in drawers, Princess,_ he signs firmly.

“Are you sure? I’m pretty sure I read in a book once that drawer-babies are a proud Hylian tradition.” Oh, that _wasn’t_ the most horrified look in Link’s arsenal, because this new look is even _more_ horrified.

 _As your knight I am sworn to protect you_ **_and_ ** _your descendants. I refuse to let you store a baby in a drawer._ He stands and wades back into the water, shoulders proud.

“What if I pad the drawer?” she calls after him, and gets a rude gesture in response. Her laughter rings out over the sand and sea and sky. When she can look at him without giggling, she levers herself upright and follows him out to gather snails. Back in Hateno he makes paella with them, which takes ages but is worth the wait. After night falls Link climbs into bed with one of his court romance novels, propped up against the headboard with a pillow behind his back. Zelda eyes him sidelong as she pulls out one of the drawers of the dresser, pretending to examine the craftsmanship. Eventually she catches his attention, and sees him raise an eyebrow. She smothers a smile, closes the drawer, and opens the next one.

 _What are you doing?_ Link looks wary, and she bites her cheek on the side facing away from him and runs her hands over the wood.

“Just deciding which drawer is my favorite.” Zelda ducks her head and looks up at him through her lashes, the picture of innocence. “You know, for the baby.”

Link throws the pillow at her.

A few days later Link pronounces her skilled enough at standing archery that she’s ready for the next step. Zelda basks in the praise for approximately a minute before she finds out the next step involves actual steps, as in, Link wants her to shoot while moving. She understands _why_ , and agrees that it’s an important skill to have. She gets all that, and she’s determined to learn, it’s just… It’s really, _really_ difficult. It would require an extreme streak of luck if she managed to hit the broad side of a fucking _barn_ while moving at a brisk walk, and after the five dozenth abject failure she throws her bow down and covers her face with her hands to stifle a scream. At least her leather breastplate keeps her from hitting herself in the tit. Small favors.

“I don’t understand,” she says into her palms, “why a casual stroll makes this so impossible.”

“It introduces a lot of variables you have to correct for,” Link says calmly. Zelda takes her hands off her face and turns to face him so he can sign. _Shooting while moving adds wind speed, a vertical bounce, tracking and aiming… It’s a lot. It’s not surprising you’re having a hard time._

“Was it this hard for you when you started?” Zelda asks, more plaintive then she’d like.

 _No,_ Link admits, _but I’m a freak._

“You’re not a freak,” she protests, her frustration immediately replaced with a protective fury. Link looks at her with a flat face, sighs, and does a _standing fucking backflip_ without any apparent effort. On his way down he nocks, draws, and fires three arrows at once, each arrow thumping into a target on or near the bullseye. He lands, slings the bow over his shoulder, and faces her with his hands on his hips.

“Normal people can’t do that,” he says with a shrug. “I’m not… I’m not _insulting_ myself by saying I’m a freak. I’m the Hero of Legend and because of that I am an _absolute fucking freak of nature._ That’s just a statement of fact.” A grin flashes across his face and he tips his head at her. _Technically you’re a freak, too, if that makes you feel better, Princess “Hundred Years Without A Body.”_

“It would be nice if my freakdom came with magic archery skills,” Zelda grouses, picking up her bow and heading back to the starting line. “What am I doing wrong?”

 _You’re getting angry,_ Link tells her, then adjusts her stance a little with his hands on her shoulders. _Anger can be a good fuel in a hand-to-hand fight, but it doesn’t help archery. You need to be calm and controlled. If you’re angry then you’re breathing harder, your heart is pounding, your hands are shaking--it raises the difficulty level._

“And then failing makes me angrier, which makes it harder, which makes me fail again, which makes me angrier,” Zelda finishes for him, twirling her index fingers around each other to illustrate the cycle. Link nods. _Exactly. Try it again, but let the anger go._

Zelda nods and shuts her eyes, weight forward on her toes, breathing slowly. Calm. Okay. She knows a way to do calm. The sounds of the birds and the breeze fade away as she sends her attention inward, seeking the only remnant of Hylia’s power she can still access. The golden goddess trance waits for her, under her heart, inside her ribcage, and she sinks into it like cool water on a hot day. Her heartbeat and her breathing slow, her hands relax on the bow, and her shoulders drop as the frustrated tension drains away. Zelda blinks her eyes back open, still submerged in Hylia’s light, and she starts to walk. From very far away, she hears the twang of the bow and the thump of impact, but it doesn’t matter to her in this place. She walks along the course, firing at targets far and near with a serene smoothness to her motions. When she reaches the last target, she shifts her stance, turns, and comes back along the course at a brisk walk. It takes less time to cross it, her arrows flying from the bow like words in a song, and when she reaches her starting position she reverses direction at a jog. The goddess trance still has her, so it takes her the space of a blink to finish, her quiver lighter. Zelda sets her feet and sprints back along the row of targets, loosing arrows with a speed she’ll find surprising when she has time to think again. Skidding to a stop in front of Link, she shuts her eyes, breathes one slow pull of air, and releases the trance as she exhales.

“Fuck,” Link says, and when she opens her eyes he looks stunned. “That bad?” Zelda asks, turning to the targets.

Her jaw drops.

The painted targets, previously unmarred by anything other than Link’s demonstrative arrows, practically bristle. Zelda walks closer in disbelief, as though anyone other than her was shooting out here. She didn’t hit the bulls-eye, but every single one of her arrows is in the inner ring, on every single target, even the furthest one.

“That was _amazing_ ,” Link says, walking up behind her. “What did you do?”

“I was calm,” Zelda says, still a little bewildered. She reaches out to touch the fletching on one arrow with a fingertip, as though it might be an illusion. The feathers brush against her skin, and she shakes herself, grabs the shaft, and yanks it out.

“What are you doing?” Link asks as she gathers the arrows.

“I’m going to see if I can do it again,” she says, and flashes him a grin over her shoulder. “On the other side this time.”

The sun reflects off his smile like light from a sword. “Atta girl, Princess.”

She _can_ do it on the other side, it turns out. The goddess-touched archery is a skill she can access with an effort of will. It takes her a little while to get into the trance, but Zelda assumes that will come with more practice. She notes this in her journal, in the smooth, elegant script she was able to use Before (her handwriting recovered quickly enough with practice) and glances at yesterday’s date as she does.

“Oh,” she says out loud, laying down her pen. “Tomorrow’s my birthday.”

“Huh,” Link says, frowning at the meat he’s salting for dinner. He makes the face that tells her he’s doing math in his head and looks up at her a moment later. “It is. I can’t believe I forgot.”

“I can’t believe _I_ forgot,” Zelda says, reeling. “It’s been almost a month since the fight. It seems like it’s been a week and a year at the same time.”

The corner of Link’s mouth turns up and he flips the meat over to salt the other side. “What do you want to do?” His eyes flick up to her, a flash of blue that still leaves her breathless. “I’m no Paya but I could probably arrange a party if I worked at it.”

“I still get a headache when I think of the last party we went to,” Zelda says, dropping a hand to her stomach, a wave of remembered nausea washing over her. “No party, please.”

“Okay,” he agrees immediately, setting the meat aside. Zelda thinks about it while he washes his hands and starts chopping vegetables. She keeps her eyes on his hands as he wields the knife with a deft competence she always finds compelling.

“Take me somewhere pretty,” she says finally, fingers playing absently over the parchment of her journal. “Somewhere away from people. Maybe somewhere we can go swimming.” The summer heat has come to Hateno in earnest, and Zelda finds herself staring at the small pond outside the house with longing in the afternoons.

“Swimming?” Link says, the knife stuttering for half a second.

“Yes,” she says, watching his ears pink with a fond smile. “I had Sophia make me something to swim in that shouldn’t threaten your modesty too much.”

“I didn’t--” Link mutters under his breath, ducking his head over the vegetables as though he couldn’t chop them in his sleep. The knife hits the cutting board a few more times and he glances up. “Swimming. Anything else?”

She frowns. It’s like now that someone has asked her the question, every potential way she could possibly celebrate has fled her mind. Birthdays? Never heard of them. “Dinner with Impa. Could you make salmon muenière?”

He smiles. “I live to serve, Princess.” 

Zelda returns to her journal as Link turns to the cookstove. She shouldn’t be able to love him more than she does, but apparently her love is like a wellspring. It keeps bubbling up and flowing over, filling her to the brim. Eventually it’s going to overflow out her mouth, and she’ll tell him. Not now, though. Now she just watches him slide meat into a sizzling skillet and thanks Hylia, her lucky stars, and all the spirits for her loyal, kind, steadfast knight. There’s nowhere she’d rather be than this tiny house in Hateno with him at her side, and that’s where she gets to be.

 _Thank you_ , Zelda sends to Hylia, brushing the golden light below her heart. _Thank you for this. Thank you for him._ Hylia doesn’t respond, but that doesn’t anger Zelda the way it used to. She just smiles, dips her pen in the ink, and writes the next line on the page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been planning this goddamn boner scene since I started writing this fucking thing! And I finally! Wrote it!!!
> 
> No matter how mad you get with me about the slow burn know that I am five times as mad at myself
> 
> Anyway, you're welcome


	16. Chapter 16

Zelda swims to consciousness slowly, warm and comfortable and sore (she’s just used to that last one at this point). She doesn’t hear Link in the kitchen, which is strange. Probably something she should investigate. With a mild effort, Zelda rolls onto her back--

Except she _doesn’t_ , because there’s a firm wall of chest behind her, and Link wraps his arm a little tighter around her waist. “Good morning, Princess,” he says in her ear, voice low, and Zelda silently freaks out for a second as she adjusts her perception of reality.

“You stayed in bed,” she says, worming around in his grasp until she can lay on her back and tuck her legs over his. Link lets her settle and pulls her close again, resting his cheek on her shoulder.

“It’s your birthday,” he says simply, peeking up at her through his lashes. It literally hurts, how beautiful he is and how much she loves him. Zelda breathes through the cramp in her heart as he continues, “Also, in the spirit of full honesty, I came _back_ to bed. Breakfast is ready whenever you want to get up.”

“You are too good to me,” Zelda says, resting her hand on his forearm and stroking her thumb back and forth against his bare skin. Link shrugs and smiles at her, that small, private smile he saves for moments like this. “I live to serve, Princess.”

By the trifold goddesses and every household spirit, how is he so fucking perfect and how is she supposed to handle it? It’s almost enough to make her angry. Ugh. Zelda shuts her eyes and snuggles a little closer, listening to the birdsong outside the window. They manage another twenty minutes or so of an absolutely _decadent_ morning cuddle before Zelda’s bladder forces her out of the bed. When they re-convene at the table Link removes a towel to reveal a platter of scones, a pot of wildberry jam and a bowl of clotted cream. The teapot is on the back of the stove, staying hot, and he’s so dedicated to his craft that he has a flame blade secreted under the scone tray so they’re still warm when she picks one up. Zelda takes her first bite, the tender, crumbly scone positively slathered in jam and cream, and moans audibly.

“Hylia rain blessings down upon you and yours,” she says fervently after she swallows. “Link, these are spectacular.”

Her knight ducks his head, his ears flushing. _Thanks. They don’t travel well, so I don’t make them very often, but I figured today is a special occasion._

“I will claim the throne and decree more holidays if it means you make these more often,” she tells him, and takes another bite. The face he makes at her is a gift, and she tucks it away into her ribcage to treasure later.

“What should I wear?” she asks after breakfast, frowning into the drawer she has open in the dresser. Link’s still washing the dishes from breakfast, so he calls up, “Whatever you can hike in. I’ll take care of the rest.” Zelda frowns harder. She wasn’t expecting hiking. She trusts him, though, in every possible way, so she pulls out a white blouse, a deep blue tunic, and a pair of tan trousers. Her swimming costume is already folded and waiting on the bed, and after a moment’s thought Zelda sets a pair of socks on top of it, just in case she somehow ends up with wet feet. They trade places, Link in the loft to change while Zelda washes her face and rubs her moisturizing oil into it down in the bathing room. When he joins her, pack over one shoulder, he’s in his Champion’s tunic, just like the day before and the day before that and almost every day that isn’t laundry day.

“I’ve seen how many clothes you own,” Zelda teases gently, giving in to temptation and resting her hand on his sternum in the guise of tugging at the blue fabric. “Why do you always end up wearing this one?”

Link looks at her, quiet, his eyes strangely intense. _You made this,_ he signs, his hands moving gracefully around her arm. _It was the only thing I had of you for a long time._

“Oh,” Zelda says, trying not to let the fresh welter of emotions in her gut show on her face. She releases her hold on the fabric and smooths it, letting her hand travel under his collarbone and out to his shoulder. “It’s not my best work,” she sniffs, doing what she usually does and using humor to cover her reaction. “I made it when I still thought I hated you, so I never wove the ends in like I should have.”

 _Oh no,_ Link signs, his face deadpan. _Not loose ends. What horror._

“If you’d seen my good work you could tell the difference,” Zelda insists, and lets her hand travel from his shoulder down his arm to the elbow. Wow, apparently she just cannot stop touching him this morning. “If you have any plain tunics, pull them out and put them in a pile and I’ll embroider them for you. Whatever patterns you want, just let me know.”

Link’s face lights up, the eager joy so bright it hurts to look at. _Really?_

“Of course,” Zelda says, and means, “I love you.” She squeezes his arm and forces herself to drop her hand to her side. “You know I love to have a project.”

 _We finally have all the time in the world to do nothing at all_ , Link agrees with a resigned expression, _and we both can’t fucking handle not having something to do with our hands._ He steps close, hands on her waist to pull her in. Zelda wraps her arms around his neck, tucks her face into his shoulder, and waits for the blue lights to take them.

They re-materialize in a sort of hollow on the side of a mountain, and Zelda takes a step back from Link and raises her eyebrows. “I said swimming,” she says, shivering in the wind. Link grins at her, pulls a ruby circlet out of his pocket, and carefully settles it on her brow. The enchantment in the jewelry rolls over her, cutting the chill immediately. _You said to take you somewhere pretty, and to take you swimming. You didn’t say they had to be the same place._ She has to concede the point. Also, Link doesn’t give her time to argue, taking her by the hand and pulling her after him further uphill.

The climb is surprisingly hard in places, requiring them to scramble on all fours on some particularly vertical sections. Link floats up them like a thrice-damned mountain goat. Zelda is not nearly so graceful. _Freak of nature,_ she reminds herself as Link reaches down to help her over the edge of a rock. After that she can manage on two feet, and her knight leads her into the gully between two jutting walls of stone, shaded from the sun. Crows circle overhead, letting out the occasional caw. She’s never been here before, wherever Link has decided upon for her birthday, and she’s about to ask him a question about it when they step out from between the rocks and into the sunlight again. Zelda stops breathing for an instant, which is a _terrible_ idea after a hike, but she can’t help it.

The first thing she notices is the tree, shedding pink petals from its full blossoms in spite of being wildly out of season. It shelters a small pond surrounded by rocks and flowers, the whole place positively radiating with sacred power. When Zelda takes a few steps toward it, as though in a trance, her eyes lift up and out and out and _out._ She can see all of Hyrule from here, the Seres Scablands to the north, the Gerudo Highlands, Hyrule Field, all the way out to Death Mountain and the Dueling Peaks in the distance. She crosses the little shore of the pond to climb up on a rocky outcropping and turns in a slow circle, taking it all in. Zelda’s trying to find the words to thank Link for taking her here when she hears the little clicking sound of the slate taking an image. She whips her head around to find him lowering it with a shameless grin.

“It’s a good shot,” he says, climbing up the rocks to show her. Infuriatingly, he’s right--he caught her from the back, one foot up on a raised rock, her hair blowing in the wind as she looks out over the countryside. If it were a painting it would be something like “The Queen and Her Country,” and she’d have a flowing dress on that left one shoulder bare and a crown on her head. Instead it’s just her. Just Zelda, framed by the place she loves with her whole being, like she _belongs_ there. It’s perfect, except...

“Come here,” she says, and arranges a bewildered but compliant Link where she wants him. It’s tricky, but she eventually gets him with his back to the vista behind them, holding the slate out with one arm, his finger carefully poised over the command to capture an image. He waits without complaint while she adjusts the slate until it’s framed exactly the way she wants it, and then she darts to his side and wraps her arms around his waist. “Okay,” she says, “take it.”

Link puts his free arm around her shoulders and the slate makes its little clicking sound. Zelda reaches for it with grabby hands. “I wanna seeeeee,” she whines, swiping for the slate while Link turns his back on her and examines his work. “Let me check the quality first, Princess,” he says, fending her off with nimble footwork. “I can’t show you substandard work on your birthday.”

“Fiiiine,” she says with a huff, crossing her arms and turning to look out over the plains. The beauty of it hits all over again, that this is her land, filled with her people, and it’s _still here_. She fills her eyes and heart with Hyrule, breathing slowly, serene and regal. Link taps her on the shoulder with the slate and she snatches it from him, completely destroying her illusion of calm. His laugh is a joy, but the image of them… Her framing worked, and they’re pictured from the shoulders-up, pressed together without a whisper of air between them. Behind them Hyrule unfolds in all her splendor, green and blue and stunning. Zelda’s smiling at the viewer, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed. Link’s looking at Zelda, his blue eyes full of mirth, his mouth quirked up in that little secret smile she loves. She wants to climb into this image and live there forever.

“It’s perfect,” she says. “ _You’re perfect,_ ” she doesn’t say, at least not out loud. Out loud she says, “Thank you.” Link puts the slate back in its holster with a practiced motion and pulls her into his arms. “I live to serve,” he breathes, running one hand up to cup the back of her head. Zelda squeezes him tight, because the alternative is to kiss his ridiculous face.

 _So this is the somewhere pretty,_ he signs when they disentangle themselves. _Let me know when you’re ready to go swimming._

“Oh,” Zelda says, hoping he can’t see how flushed her ears are. “I thought you were just very focused on safety and were planning on making me swim in that.” She waves at the pond, which even at a glance she can tell would come up to her knees at the very highest.

 _Oh, is that what you thought?_ Link asks with an absolutely _wicked_ grin. _I can make that happen for you, Princess._ Oh no oh no _oh no_. Zelda turns tail to run, and before she gets three steps Link catches her and throws her over his shoulder like she weighs as much as a kitten. “Nooooo!” she wails, flailing uselessly in his grip as he walks toward the pond. “No, Link! It’ll be cold! Don’t you dare!”

“You never specified you wanted to swim somewhere warm,” he insists, coming to a halt on a rock overlooking the water. “I am within the terms of the original request.” His arm across the back of her thighs squeezes like a vice, her hipbones pressing into his shoulder, and Zelda grabs his belt with both hands just in case he actually tries to go through with it.

“Sir Link,” she says, as regally as possible with her head hanging upside-down toward the ground. “This is behavior unfitting of a knight. I order you to put me down at once.”

“Oh, so you don’t want me to treat you like a princess when you’re meeting other royalty, but now you want to take advantage of being able to give me orders?” Zelda can’t see his face but she can picture the smug expression.

“Exactly,” she says. “I will never forgive you if you dump me in that water.” Link makes some thoughtful sounds for a moment, his grip on her legs relaxing a touch, and Zelda lets some of the tension go out of her frame.

“Don’t care!” he says, moving to throw her in the pond, and Zelda shrieks and tightens her hold on his belt. For a terrifying moment her hips leave his shoulder, and then the world dissolves into blue lights and Zelda feels nothing and everything and that same strange sensation of movement.

Zelda is still mid-shriek when she has a body again, and it’s loud enough to startle the sea birds into silence for an instant before they resume their honking. The heat and humidity hit her next, and the sunlight reflecting off the sand. Link bends his knees and sets her feet gently to the shrine platform, his hands hovering in offered support as she stands up straight. When she’s steady, he grins and waves an arm expansively over the deserted white-sand beach dotted with ruins, the blue waters of the protected cove spreading out behind him. “Swimming,” he says magnanimously. “As requested, your Highness.”

“You are the fucking _worst_ ,” she tells him, running her hands through her rumpled hair and trying not to laugh.

“You love it,” he insists, digging in his pack and handing over her swimming costume.

“An absolute nightmare,” Zelda snaps, instead of telling him just how much she does love it, and also him. She stalks off behind the shrine to change, Link’s laughter drifting after her on the salt-scented wind. Her revenge comes soon enough, as she walks out dressed for swimming and Link gets a good look at her in Sophia’s creation for the first time. It doesn’t actually show that much skin, but Link looks so gobsmacked she thinks she might as well be naked. The purple and blue fabric is very snug, hugging her skin from mid-thigh up to her collarbones, laced up the front so she can actually get into and out of the form-fitting garment. Link’s eyes go from her toes up her bare legs to her hips, then up to her breasts, then up to her bare arms, and then back to her breasts and hips again. She can practically feel his gaze on her skin, acutely aware she’s not wearing anything under the suit. Zelda bends over to deposit her neatly folded hiking clothes on the shrine platform and from the corner of her eye watches his eyes absolutely glue themselves to her ass. She grins internally. _Perfect._

“I’m getting in the water,” she tells him, standing back up with a toss of her hair. “You should probably stop staring at me and get changed.” Zelda shoots him a wink, and Link twitches bodily, ears pinking. “I wasn’t--” he tries to protest, but Zelda’s already jogging across the sand toward the crystalline blue waves. She splashes in up to her ribcage and lifts her feet, floating in the surf for a beautiful, suspended moment. The water is warm and the sun is high and she feels both like she doesn’t have a body again and also entirely aware of her body in the best possible way.

“Swimming is fucking great,” she tells Link when she hears him splash in behind her. “We should do it more often.” She bobs around to face him and hides her disappointment when she sees him clad neck to feet in his Zora armor. It makes sense given how it’s literally designed to swim in, but Zelda was definitely hoping he’d at least leave his shirt off. At least he’s not wearing the headpiece, leaving his golden hair to shine in the summer sunlight.

“It is nice,” he allows, paddling around her in an easy circle. “Goddesses, I haven’t swam just for fun in…” Link pauses, treading water, and Zelda watches the gears turn in his head. “Spirits, it must have been Before, sometime. I think I remember in the summer some of the knights would sneak out to the other side of Hyrule Forest Park when we were off-duty and swim in the river.” His feet float up, and he drifts on his back with a grin. “They used to dare me to jump off the Boneyard Bridge.”

“Did you?” Zelda asks, knowing the answer in her heart.

“I grew up with the Zora, Princess,” Link says, and his grin creeps wider. “I didn’t just jump, I did fancy dives with flips and shit.”

Zelda laughs and paddles closer so she can poke him with her feet. “You’ll have to show me sometime when we’re at a better diving location.”

“Oh, I can definitely show you some of it now.” Link is back on the shore practically before Zelda can blink, the enchanted armor and his own Hylia-touched body allowing him to carve through the water like a Zora. He does something with the slate and a strange crinkling sound announces a pillar of ice rising from the water behind her.

“I still don’t understand why it doesn’t melt,” she grumbles as he splashes back to her side. “Or how it stays in place.”

“See, my solution is I just don’t think about it, and then I don’t get confused,” Link says with a winning grin, swimming past her out to the pillar.

“The questions are there whether you think about them or not,” she insists as he climbs the ice pillar with a grace she finds both envious and bewildering. (It’s ice! How is it not slippery?)

“Thinking sounds like a trap when you put it that way, Princess,” he tells her from the top of the pillar. “Doing things is way better.” Link winks and leaps off the pillar, turning a graceful forward flip and diving into the stunning blue water with hardly a splash. It’s impressive enough to make Zelda a little mad, because how dare he? She swims closer, to better facilitate a mock scolding, but Link doesn’t come back up. Frowning, she swims further out from the store still, squinting into the water.

“Link?” she asks, as though he could hear her from under the waves. Where did he go? Zelda’s starting to get worried when she feels a great rush from underneath her, and then two strong hands grab her around the hips and fully _launch_ her into the air. She squeals wordlessly, flailing her arms and legs as she flies, and splashes back into the water with all the grace of a drunken hinox. She surfaces, spluttering salt water out of her mouth, and whips around to find her knight smugly treading water a few feet away.

“Why you--fucking little-- _fucker!_ ” she manages through her grin, and splashes him right in his handsome asshole face with a solid kick to the surface. He swims backward, coughing and shaking water out of his eyes. Once he’s recovered he catches her gaze, eyes glinting, and grins slow and sweet and predatory.

“You’re gonna regret that,” he promises, and Zelda clenches between her legs, warm water on her skin in a glorious riot of sensation.

“Make me,” she dares, then immediately squeals again as he grabs her and dunks her under the water. It’s not a fair fight in the least--he’s stronger, has more experience swimming, and has _magical damn armor_ , but he’s also not willing to actually hurt her so she manages to wriggle out of his grasp and dunk him a couple of times herself. It’s the most unrestrained she’s ever seen him--in the throes of their mock battle he doesn’t set his hands with delicate care on her waist or shoulders out of a concern for appropriate behavior. He just grabs whatever’s available and uses that leverage to throw her into the air or pull her under the waves like the world’s most playful shark. Zelda loves it, _loves_ feeling his hands on her calves or thighs or hips as they mock-wrestle. She shelves the sensations away carefully to revisit later, when she’s alone… And then she climbs up on his shoulders and shoves him underwater with her knees. The victory is momentary, since Link pulls her under with him, and now she has to figure out how to escape without the use of her legs. It is so _fucking_ fun she almost drowns from laughing and she doesn’t care in the least. Some time later they wash up on the shore, pleasantly exhausted and giggling.

“Okay,” Zelda says, dragging herself up to sitting on the sand. “I need to drink some not-salt water. Maybe when I can feel my legs again you can teach me some diving.” She waves at the still-intact ice pillar, then glares at it and shakes her head as she remembers how impossible it ought to be.

 _I live to serve, Princess,_ Link tells her, water dripping from his hands, and goddesses above she wants to climb on top of him and have him put those hands to better use. Zelda pushes the feeling down as she climbs to her feet. _Control._

They eat hydromelons and mushroom balls for lunch before they get back in the water, and Zelda manages to figure out the forward tuck dive that Link considers “basic” and that she considers “wizardry.” There’s a lot of ungainly belly-flopping and back-flopping involved before the rotation makes sense, but when it finally clicks and she surfaces from a successful attempt, Link claps as though she’d just defeated the Calamity singlehandedly. Eventually she can’t take any more swimming, her limbs dead to the world, and they warp back to Hateno in the early afternoon to change for dinner. They take turns in the bathing room to scrub off the salt and sand. Zelda decides on the blue dress and the opal earrings, braiding her damp hair back. After a moment’s consideration she heads outside to pick some flowers, and once she’s back in front of the mirror she weaves them through the braid. Perfect.

“Figured out how to do it yourself, did you?” Link asks, coming up the stairs behind her and smiling at her reflection in the mirror. He’s back in his Champion’s tunic and the sapphire circlet he seems to favor for fancy occasions. They match, in a strange sort of way, one that makes Zelda feel warm in her gut.

“You weren’t available,” Zelda sniffs. “If you don’t approve of the craftsmanship you can always redo it.”

 _Maybe later,_ she reads backwards as he comes to stand a pace behind and to the right of her shoulder. _We should get over to Kakariko. I headed over this morning and left a note for Impa and Paya to expect us about now._

“How early did you get up this morning?” Zelda stands up from the vanity chair and turns to face him, her arms expectantly wide.

“Early enough,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking up, and they step into their travel embrace. If Zelda presses a little closer than is strictly necessary, Link says nothing and she’ll never admit it.

Dinner with Impa and Paya is a delight, exactly the kind of family celebration Zelda hasn’t truly had since her mother died. Impa tells embarrassing stories about all three of “you youths” as she puts it, which is how Zelda learns about Paya’s birthmark; how Paya and Zelda learn about how Link used to fall off of things all the time in his early training because he would misjudge his stamina and lose steam before reaching the top; and how Link and Paya learn about that time Zelda insisted she knew what she was doing with the Slate and somehow managed to take a picture of herself from below her chin that mostly just showed her right nostril.

“In my defense,” Zelda says between giggles, “I was fourteen and it was the first time I’d ever used the slate.”

“You looked so horrified!” Impa cackles, wiping her eyes. “It was like someone tried to hand you bokoblin guts when you were expecting a kitten!”

“It was an extremely unflattering image!” On this front Zelda will not back down. She hadn’t even known a face could look like that from any angle.

 _Why didn’t you leave that one on the slate, Princess?_ Link asks, practically convulsing with laughter. _I’m sure I would have remembered you a lot sooner if I’d gotten to see your nostril in vivid detail._

“Don’t you fucking start,” she warns him, but her cheeks still hurt from smiling so it doesn’t really work.

“I--Um… I don’t think it would have helped you remember Zelda if it had been on the slate,” Paya says, so helpfully that Zelda wants to thank her for the support. “Unless,” Paya continues, and Zelda gets a bad feeling about where this sentence is going, “you had a previous reason to be extremely familiar with Zelda’s nostril.” She taps her chin, pretending to be thoughtful, and Zelda’s going to kill her. “Sir Link, did you perhaps at one point find yourself needing to examine her nostril from close range? Maybe she had something stuck in it?”

 _I don’t remember ever having to pull something out of the Princess’s nose,_ Link says, struggling to keep a straight face, _but that doesn’t mean it never happened. Princess? How well do I know your nose?_

“I’m going to reclaim the crown, rebuild a dungeon, and throw all of you in it,” Zelda tells them, crossing her arms and giving them the firmest look she can manage. All three of them school their faces into something like penance for approximately five seconds before they start laughing again. She tries to resist, but it’s useless, and her laugh joins the cacophony in short order.

The food is excellent, which she was expecting. Impa and Paya have gifts for her, which she was _not_ expecting. Zelda’s not sure why it’s such a surprise, it’s just--no one but Urbosa ever gave her _personal_ gifts on her birthday. There was always a ceremony with pomp and circumstance and a bunch of stuffy formal offerings from various nobles, but never a little package, soft to the touch, carefully wrapped in brightly patterned fabric. Zelda unties the knots with shaking fingers and unrolls a beautifully woven textile, somewhere between a scarf and a shawl. She recognizes the Sheikah motifs, flowers and leaves and birds, and looks up at Paya with a watery smile.

“It’s Delini’s work,” Paya says in a completely unnecessary explanation. “It reminded me of you. Do you like it?”

“I _love_ it,” Zelda says fervently, wrapping it around her neck. “It’s beautiful, Paya. Thank you.”

Paya flushes all the way down to her neck as Zelda opens the gift from Impa, which is infinitely more practical while being just as thoughtful: It’s a stunningly engraved Sheikah blade, a dagger with a single curved blade like a sword. The sheath is enameled with dragons, the whole thing slim enough to be easily concealed. “Every woman should own a good blade,” Impa says, like there’s a story behind it, and Zelda hugs her rather than trying to find the words to say thank you.

They bid their farewells as the shadows start to lengthen, waving to Impa and Paya even as they dissolve into an explosion of swirling blue. Link takes her hand when they settle on the shrine in Hateno and they meander back to the house like that.

“This was perfect, Link,” Zelda tells him as they cross the bridge. “Thank you so much.”

“It’s not over yet, Princess,” he says with a grin, eyeing the sun. “By my count we probably have a good three hours left of your birthday before dark.”

“Well, then, Sir Knight,” Zelda says regally. “Lead on.”

Link seats her at their table and puts her hands over her eyes. “Don’t peek,” he warns her, and Zelda smiles into the darkness. Cupboard doors squeak open and shut, the clink of ceramic telling her there’s a platter on the table. “Okay,” he says from across from her, and Zelda opens her eyes.

“Oh, Link,” she breathes, her chin in her hands. There’s a fruitcake in front of her, yellow sponge and whipped cream and berries practically dripping out the sides. “You remembered!”

“I found the recipe in the castle library,” he confesses. His blue eyes flick up to hers and that wicked grin comes back as he holds up two forks. “Now, do you want to be polite about this and have me cut you a slice, or do you want to go full barbarian and just go at this thing on the platter?”

“Barbarian,” she says with a matching grin, and Link hands her the fork as though she’s going into battle. Zelda loads the fork with precision and skill, getting the perfect balance of cake and cream and fruit. She surveys her work with satisfaction and takes a bite and groans out loud because of _course_ it’s perfect. The cake is perfectly tender, the cream perfectly sweetened, and the fruit tart and fresh and the perfect complement to the rest. After she chews and swallows she opens her eyes to find Link watching her with a sort of expectant nervousness. It makes her warm and bubbling all through her chest, how much he cares. “It’s perfect, Link,” she says, loading her fork again, and when he ducks his head and flushes in pride she wants to shove the cake out of the way and put her mouth on him instead.

Zelda doesn’t do that. She eats more cake. _Control._

When they’ve worked their way through a reasonable third of the cake Link puts it away for later. He comes back to the table with a little flat package in his hands, and that expectant nervousness is back. “I--” he starts, and his voice breaks. Zelda cocks her head at him and he sets the package in front of her to free his hands. _I got you a present, too, but I thought it was more appropriate to give it to you here._ His ears pink, and he shifts from foot to foot. It’s so adorable Zelda almost wants to make him squirm a little longer, but she also wants to know what he got her, so…

The gift is rectangular and mostly flat, wrapped in a simple muslin and tied with a blue ribbon. A book, maybe? Zelda pulls the ribbon and sets it aside, then slides her hand under the fabric. It’s not leather that greets her fingers, but something like textured canvas. With a deft movement she flips the fabric open and almost immediately starts crying.

It’s a picture of all of them, the Champions, Daruk hugging them all in his mighty arms. Zelda remembers the day it was taken like it just happened--they’d had a ceremony to swear in the Champions officially, and Purah took the image, trying to make them pose to meet her standards. This image was not what she posed--Zelda’s surprise is captured perfectly, along with Revali’s indignation, Urbosa’s resigned sigh, and Mipha’s shock. Even Link, so stoic in those days, looks startled, probably because Zelda thinks she accidentally elbowed him in the side.

“Oh, _Link_ ,” she says, her voice cracking. She sets down the image carefully and stands up, throwing her arms around his neck. “It’s perfect,” she says into his collar, tears slipping from her eyes to dampen the fabric. “Where did you _find_ it?”

“Kass gave it to me back in Rito Village,” he says, his chest vibrating against hers. “He found it while he was researching a song about the Champions. You like it?”

“I _love_ it,” she says fervently, her hands squeezing on his back. “Thank you. I can’t even--thank you so much, Link.” Oh, no, she’s crying harder now, silently shaking into his shoulder.

“Of course,” he says, one hand coming up to cradle her head. His fingers card into her hair and scritch at her scalp. Zelda shivers and shuts her eyes, blocking out everything but the smell and feel of Link against her in this perfect moment. He holds her until she stops crying, then offers her a handkerchief when she finally steps back.

“Thank you,” she says as she wipes her eyes and blows her nose. Zelda turns back to the picture and runs her fingers over the frame. It’s so lifelike, it’s as though it came freshly off the slate--

“How the _fuck_ was this made?” she demands, picking it up in both hands and frowning at it. “We can get pictures off the slate, Link? How do we get pictures off the slate?!”

“I have no idea,” he admits with half a laugh. “I was going to take it up to Purah and ask, now that it’s not a surprise anymore. There are some images on there I wouldn’t mind having on the wall.”

Zelda forces herself, with a great effort, to set the picture down and let the question go for now. Her birthday isn't quite done, and she doesn’t want to waste any of it being upset by a new mystery. (Tomorrow, though…) “Come on,” she says, turning to take his hand. “I bet the sunset’s nice.”

They end up on the edge of the ridge outside of the house, a pond some way below them and the valley opening up in the golden sunset light. _So,_ Link asks as they watch the clouds turn pink, _how does a hundred and eighteen feel?_

“A damn sight better than seventeen felt,” she says bluntly, and they both snort a mournful laugh. “Seriously, though, this is the best birthday I’ve ever had, Link,” she says, knocking her shoulder into his. “If this was a normal eighteenth birthday for me I’d be in a stifling dress at the head of a grand hall and I’d be hating it.”

 _They’d be there,_ Link adds, and she knows he means the Champions. _The Hylian nobles would try to pretend not to be scandalized by Daruk’s…_ **_everything_** _, but watching his trail of social destruction would be the best part of my night._

“You’d stand behind my chair the whole time,” Zelda agrees, “with that stoic knight’s face. You wouldn’t get to eat or drink or dance because you’d be too busy with your duty.”

_That’s not entirely true. I’d wait for Urbosa to come take my place for five minutes, and then I’d duck back into the servant’s entrance where the cook would have a plate for me._

“Is that how you managed?” Zelda asks, intrigued. “I never saw you leave.”

 _That’s because I was very good at my job, Princess,_ Link signs smugly.

“Wait,” Zelda says, as she makes some connections. “Wait, Link, I always had a tray sent up from the kitchens to my room after parties like that, and I’d leave it out for you on the balcony.” She turns to face him, delighted and appalled. “I thought you didn’t get to eat at those events! I felt bad for you!”

 _I know,_ Link says, grinning ear to ear.

“Are you telling me you took my charity food, all that time? You lied to me!”

 _I never lied, Princess,_ Link insists. _You made an assumption and I didn’t correct you. It’s not like I was ever going to turn down free food._

“You scoundrel,” Zelda says, fondly. “You played me the whole time.”

 _You’d always have them put two slices of cake._ Link looks into the middle distance, clearly lost in memory. _Even when you hated me you always set out food for me. It was... nice. No one took care of me like that after I joined the guard. I didn’t want it to stop._

“Well,” Zelda says, her voice and heart soft. “If the opportunity arises to leave food out for you on a balcony again, I’ll take it.”

 _Thanks,_ Link signs with half an eye roll, and Zelda laughs and takes his hand. The clouds go all pink and orange above them, the sky tinting purple toward night. Link squeezes her fingers and half turns toward her.

“Zelda?”

Every time he says her name it’s like dropping a stone into a well, the echoes reverberating all the way down into her soul. She mirrors his posture, notes the tension in his shoulders before she meets his gaze. There’s something in the blue of his eyes that she can’t identify, even though it feels like it should be deeply, intimately familiar. His eyes flick back and forth between hers for a moment before he bites his lower lip and takes a deep breath.

“I remember a lot, now, that I didn’t remember when you first came back,” Link says, his voice low and very faintly nervous. If she didn’t know him so well she wouldn’t be able to tell, but it’s there in the clench of his hand on hers and his pulse rabbiting in his throat. “I think I remember most of it correctly but…” He pauses to take another breath, his eyes sliding shut as he prepares himself. When he opens them again she stops breathing, because she thinks she knows why he looks that way but she’s forgotten the words. “Were we in love?” he asks, quiet and careful. “Were we in love, Before?”

“We couldn’t be,” Zelda says, which isn’t a no. It’s the truth--they were too bound up in their roles, too trapped by protocol, too stifled by duty to the crown and the country. She knows, now, how much she loved him, but she never let herself admit it because what could have come of it? What could they have had, when she was next in line to the throne and he was her untitled protector? If things had been different… but they weren’t, not then. She thinks he understands, because he nods like she’s confirming something he already knew. Another breath and his free hand comes up to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing slowly over her cheek to rest just barely at the outer corner of her lips. It’s a plausibly deniable touch, hovering on the knife’s edge of the line they’ve never crossed. Zelda’s whole body lights up like a bomb arrow hit her, all the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end, her lips tingling in anticipation. Link’s eyes flick between hers again, reading her reaction, and then down to her mouth for an agonizing few seconds before he meets her gaze. When he speaks his voice is so soft she has to lean in even closer to hear it.

“What about now?”

Something shatters inside Zelda, instantly and irreparably.

She kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, Writing: Okay, and then they--  
> Me to Me: MAKE THEM KISS ALREADY  
> Me, Writing: Yes, that's what I'm doing, I have to actually put down the words--  
> Me to Me: [pounding fists on table] KISS KISS KISS KISS


	17. Chapter 17

Zelda wraps her free hand around the back of his neck, pulls him in and kisses him. His mouth is soft under hers, his lips as warm as the rest of his skin. Link freezes in surprise for the briefest of moments before he kisses her back, his hand still on her face as he adjusts the angle. It’s beautiful and delicate and gentle and everything Zelda wants, and she knows immediately that one kiss is never going to be enough.

Link pulls away by a scant few inches, blinking those beautiful eyes open, and now Zelda knows what that look was she couldn’t identify earlier--it was a desperate, yearning _want_ , and it was familiar because it’s how she feels every time she looks at him. His gaze goes back and forth between her eyes and her lips in rapid succession. “Zelda,” he whispers on an urgent breath, the tension dropping out of his shoulders, and he takes his hand out of hers so he can wrap it around her back and pull her in again. He kisses her like he does everything important, methodical and deliberate. It’s perfect and _not enough_. She wants more. She wants heat and power and to crack open his shell of control to find whatever’s waiting for her inside. Zelda works her hand into his hair and traces her tongue along the seam of his lips. The shudder that rips through him lights a spark in her gut, and the desperate little sound he makes deep in his throat kindles that spark into a blaze. He opens his mouth at her wordless urging, and Zelda strokes his tongue with hers and _really_ kisses him. The kiss tastes a little bit like cake, but mostly like Link, and she has the sudden, unexpected urge to growl deep in her throat.

They go over backward before Zelda really parses how hard she’s pressing herself against him. Link’s back hits the ground, which jars them apart, so Zelda takes the opportunity to throw her leg over his and set her mouth to his jaw. The gasp he makes is almost a word, his hand spasming on her back. She smiles against his skin and presses hot, open-mouthed kisses up his jaw to his ear. “I love you,” she says when she gets there, and nips the edge of his earlobe, avoiding the metal of his earring.

Link takes a breath that’s half a laugh, half a sob, and pulls her back to his mouth so he can kiss her, frantic and trembling. When they break apart to breathe he presses their foreheads together and curls himself around her, his knees coming up to bracket her from behind. “Say it again,” he begs, his fingertips gentle on her cheek and jaw, his eyes wide and wet.

“I love you,” Zelda says, and curls her fingers into his hair to scratch at his scalp. Link squeezes his eyes shut, arching his head back into her grasp, and takes a long, shuddering breath. Zelda catches a tear on her thumb as it falls from the corner of his eye and kisses him all over his beautiful fucking face, nose and cheeks and eyebrows. “I love you,” she tells him in between kisses, all her control finally burnt up and blown to the winds like smoke. “I’ve loved you for a hundred fucking years, Link, I love you _so much_.”

“Gods,” Link chokes out, pressing their foreheads together again. When he opens his eyes they’re shining with tears and joy and the same wave of glorious relief Zelda feels in her whole body. “I remembered when I saw you again,” he says, the words wrung out of him like he’s confessing a sin. “I remembered why I missed you so much, even before I knew who you were, but I couldn’t remember if you felt the same way or if it was just me.” He cups her face in both hands as though she’s something precious, a fragile gem-studded butterfly that might shatter if he uses too much pressure. “I love you, Zelda.” The laugh that claws its way out of him is a wild thing, so close to weeping she can taste it. “I am so glad it wasn’t just me. Hylia save me, I love you.”

There aren’t words to react to that, not really, so Zelda does the sensible thing and kisses him again so she doesn’t have to think of something to say. Link seems to find this agreeable, if the happy little moan that catches in the back of his throat is any indication. His hands move aimlessly, up and down her back, cupping her shoulders, stroking over her hair and arms. It’s like he keeps checking to see if she’s real, as though he might be dreaming this. Zelda’s not entirely sure she’s not dreaming, herself, because it’s everything she wanted, his mouth on hers and his hands on her body. She gives in to a long-standing temptation and runs her hands down his chest to grope his pecs, spreading her fingertips wide so she can touch as much of him as possible. In the process she shifts her hips and Link’s thigh slots right into the space between hers, the firm warm muscle pressing directly against her pussy through her underthings. She hadn’t bothered putting on leggings before they went to dinner, and now Zelda thanks every god and spirit by name for that decision as a _shocking_ burst of pleasure arcs up her spine. Closing her teeth around a moan, she drags her mouth away from Link’s and arches back against the pressure between her legs in a slow grind.

“Oh,” Link says, his voice shaking, and he presses his mouth to her neck, dropping hot, wet kisses along the skin under her ear and down to her collarbone. Zelda whines without meaning to and tilts her head, offering herself up to him. _Fuck_ , she wants to touch him, wants to touch him _properly,_ and she curls her back so there’s space between their bodies for her hands to fumble at his belts. The movement grinds her clit against his thigh again, and she clenches on nothing, her hands stuttering in their movement before she gets them to start working. Curse these belts! She’s going to banish belts from Hyrule entirely, she’s pretty sure. Link bites her neck where it meets her shoulder and Zelda moans and drives her hips against his leg again, heat building in her gut. Finally, _finally_ both thrice-damned belts are gone. She sits upright, hips working against his thigh in little jerks, and gets her hands under the tunic to ruck it up to his ribcage. There’s no getting it off him without Link having to sit up and take his hands away from where they’re on her shoulder and hip, so she shoves her hands under the fabric and runs them over his skin. She finds his nipple by accident, realizing what she’s done when he gasps out a “Fuck,” and jerks his hips up into hers. Her smile is feral, her body finding a rhythm on his thigh without her permission or control, and she leans down and licks a stripe all the way along his collarbone.

“ _Zelda,_ ” Link says, like it’s a prayer, one of his hands scrambling at her skirt. He gets it out of the way enough so he can set his fingers on her bare thigh, the intimacy of the sensation startling in spite of the objective fact that she’s literally humping his leg. She makes an urgent sound into his neck, her mouth working over every inch of him she can get, her hands roaming his skin under his tunic. Goddess, he smells _so good_ , his hand on her thigh stroking up and down, her skin tingling, her gut tightening. Zelda’s panting now, her muscles starting to lock up, her focus turning inward to the growing heat and tightness between her legs. Every part of this day has built to this, and every image and clandestine touch she catalogued in her heart has fallen off the shelves in a jumble of erotic memory that has her on the edge of a vast, beautiful cliff. She pulls one hand out of Link’s shirt so she can grab his ponytail and pull his mouth back to her neck. He moans out loud, the sound shooting straight to her cunt, and nips at her skin. Oh fuck oh _fuck_ she’s close now, she wasn’t expecting it to happen this quickly. She shifts to find a better angle and somewhat accidentally grinds her thigh into Link’s crotch, namely, against his _obvious fucking erection_. That knowledge is what does it, the evidence of Link’s enjoyment, and she holds her breath and rubs herself just that little bit harder and Link gasps, “Zelda--”

Zelda comes just as Link manages to grit out, “Zelda, wait--” her hand up Link’s shirt and her forehead pressed into his neck, moaning out her pleasure into his skin. She collapses against him, boneless, her pussy spasming and clenching on nothing, and only then does she parse his words. “Oh, fuck,” she says, her voice raw, pushing herself up and taking her hand out from under his tunic as hot shame blooms across her cheeks. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Link, you said to wait and I--it was too late--I didn’t mean--”

“No no no,” he insists, pulling her back down with panic in his eyes. He kisses her, soft and frantic at the same time. “That was--I can’t believe--” Link swallows, presses one delicate kiss to her mouth, and admits, “I was just going to say we should move inside because I was about to come in my pants like a horny teenager.” The blush that spreads across his cheeks is absolutely spectacular, and Zelda would enjoy that a bit more except…

“I just _did_ come in my pants like a horny teenager,” she points out, shifting her hips against his thigh and shuddering again. The embarrassment is fading but still there. Goddesses, but she was absolutely _wanton_. It felt amazing.

“You came in your _skirts_ ,” Link points out, slipping his hand back under said skirts to grope her thigh. “It’s different.” He uses his other hand to pull her in for a kiss, hot and wet with a lot of tongue. “Inside. Please.”

“Okay,” Zelda agrees, climbing off him with no grace whatsoever, her soaked underpants sticking to her weirdly. “As soon as I figure out how to use my legs again.”

That they make it into the loft at all is a miracle--Zelda barely manages reaching the house on orgasm-weakened legs, and Link has to scramble to pick up his belts before he even gets off the ground. As soon as they’re inside the door she pins him against the wall and kisses him again. He drops the belts so he can put his arms around her, and she darts away and up the stairs. Twin thumps announce her boots hitting the floor, followed by a third thump when Link, absolutely deserted by his usual dexterity, trips over one and goes ass over teakettle. Zelda laughs at him from inside the blue dress, pulling it off over her head. When she can see again Link has apparently decided to save time by staying on the floor, yanking off his boots and grabbing his tunic behind his head with one hand. It comes off with a smooth motion, followed rapidly by his undershirt, and when he looks up Zelda’s perched on the edge of the bed, her knee-length chemise lifted up to pool around her hips.

Time slows down, the seconds dripping past like honey as their gazes meet. Zelda runs her fingers along the hem of the chemise, her legs bare almost up to the creases in her thighs, and slowly pulls it upward. Link’s eyes are glued to the motion, his face slack with something like awe as inch after inch of skin reveals itself. It makes Zelda feel powerful, like she’s Hylia again, her heartbeat pulsing between her legs. If she can cause this reaction just by existing, what can she do when she touches him?

The chemise comes off and whispers to the floor, leaving her just in her underthings and breast wrap. Link looks like he’s been slapped in the face, stunned and still wearing his trousers and socks. Zelda reaches out a hand to him, fire kindling through her bones, and he shakes himself and crawls closer until he’s kneeling in front of her. He does a very excellent job of making eye contact, up until she moves her hands to the fastening for the breast wrap. Then he stares at her hands, at the slow exposure of her skin, and finally at her breasts. She can’t exactly blame him, since they’re precisely at eye level. Zelda arches her back a little and smiles when he blushes, letting her own eyes travel over the toned planes of his chest and stomach. Her gaze catches on the scars, the ones she can identify from that horrible night a century prior and the ones she doesn’t know the story of yet. Her fingers itch with the desire to memorize all of them. Gods, she’s going to touch him _everywhere._

“Have you ever done this before?” she asks, cupping his jaw in one hand. Link tears his eyes away from her breasts to look at her face again. “No,” he says, then immediately frowns and says, “Yes?” She raises an eyebrow, and with shaking hands he clarifies, _I was fifteen--there was a girl. A few times, that summer, just--just hands._

Zelda nods. It doesn’t bother her--it’s nice that one of them has a little experience. “I’ve done a lot of reading on the subject,” she tells him, “but all my hands-on practice is with myself.” She grins, slow and hot and wicked. “I look forward to carrying out some live experiments based on my research and seeing the results.”

Link groans like he’s been punched and sways slightly. _Okay_ , he signs. _Yes. Please._

“I haven’t had a chance to brew any contraceptive potions,” she adds, stroking her hand down from his jaw to his shoulder, and then across his chest to his sternum, relishing the heat of his skin. “It would probably be best to avoid any direct contact between our genitals, just to avoid even the slightest possibility of unintended pregnancy.”

 _I don’t know why it’s so hot when you say it like that,_ Link tells her with another stifled groan, and she smiles, sliding her hand up to curl around the back of his neck and pull him closer. He shuffles in, setting his hands carefully on either side of her hips, and presses his forehead into the hollow between her breasts. They stay like that for a little while, Link on his knees like a sinner seeking absolution, Zelda carding her fingers through his hair. She pulls out the tie and combs it out, then carefully takes off the sapphire circlet and sets it aside.

“What do you want to do?” she asks him, and Link shakes his head and says, “Whatever you want,” half desperately aroused and half her loyal, self-sacrificing knight. That won’t do, not at all.

“What I want,” Zelda says, cupping his face in her hands and tracing his lower lip with her thumb, “is for you to actually answer my question, Sir Knight.”

Link looks up at her, eyes blue and so bright and absolutely brimming with desire. His face flushes red all the way out to his ears as he swallows. It takes him a couple of tries before his voice works, and he blurts, all in one breath, “I want to put my mouth on every inch of your body and then I want to make you come again.”

“Good,” Zelda says. “I want that, too.” She leans down and kisses him, hard, with teeth involved, and Link’s hands go from the mattress to her hips in one harsh motion, his fingers digging into the curve of her flesh. She kisses him until he moans again, pressing closer, his waist bracketed by her thighs, and then she slowly pulls away.

“You are far too dressed, my love,” she tells him, pushing him gently back with her hands on his shoulders. “Fix that before you come to bed.”

Link catches her before she even manages to scoot all the way to the center of the mattress, having divested himself of his trousers and socks in frankly record time. He crawls up her body, pressing his mouth to her as he goes--her knee, and then her thigh in a long slow line, and then the crest of her hip bone and over her ribcage. The path avoids her breasts, meandering between them and then up over her collarbone. Zelda squirms under him as he makes his way to her ear and bites her there, slowly lowering his body onto hers. The sensual slide of skin on skin and his satisfying weight is so good that she arches her back and practically purrs, rubbing her breasts against his chest. Her nipples tighten, little electric zings going off up and down her spine, and then Link nudges his knee between her legs. Zelda widens them obligingly as he settles between them, his mouth still traveling back and forth between her neck and her shoulder. He’s holding himself slightly away from her, which is just unacceptable, so she wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him down against her _properly._

“Spirits,” Link chokes out, rocking his erection into her with a shudder. They’re both down to their underwear, two thin layers of fabric the only barrier between them, and Zelda can feel the whole hot length of him. “Oh fuck,” he says, trying to lift away, “Zelda, please. You gotta stop or I’m not going to last at all.”

“Maybe that’s what I want,” Zelda says, running her hands down his back to his hips. She brushes her thumbs over the jut of his pelvic bone before grabbing his ass with both hands and squeezing. He makes a sound somewhere between a yelp and a laugh and pushes up to his knees so he can grab her wrists.

“You first,” he tells her, kissing each of her wrists and then gently pinning them to the pillow on either side of her head. “Don’t distract me, I want to make sure I do this right.”

Zelda smiles up at him, hot and aroused and so in love she thinks she might burn up with it. “Well, then,” she says, arching her back again and reveling in the heady rush of power when his eyes immediately fall back to her breasts. “You said you were going to put your mouth on every inch of me, but you’ve been neglectful in your duty so far.”

“I live to serve,” he tells her, in a tone that tells her exactly how much he’s wanted to say it to her in this situation, and that knowledge ricochets through her memories and re-contextualizes every other time she’s ever heard him say the words. It’s so distracting she almost doesn’t notice as he lowers himself down on top of her and kisses his way down her collarbone.

“Oh,” she says aloud, amazed, and in the next breath, “ _Oh,_ ” because he’s reached her right breast and dragged his tongue over her nipple. Zelda weaves her hands into his hair and holds him there as he sucks it into his mouth and traces circles around it with his tongue. It’s like lightning, arcing between his lips and the base of her spine. She feels every motion in her clit, every stroke of his tongue and caress of his lips throwing another piece of wood on the fire already burning in her gut. His hand comes up to cup her other breast, his palm cradling the curve and his thumb teasing against the hard bead of her nipple. Zelda shudders all the way from her scalp to her toes and whines in mixed complaint and delight. “Yes,” she says, arching into his touch, desperately wishing for pressure between her legs, “just like that.”

Link switches his mouth to the other side, his hand replacing his lips to roll and lightly tug on the nipple he just deserted, and Zelda thrashes her head on the pillow and tries fruitlessly to press her cunt against some part of him. “Link,” she whines, ragged, “Link, _please._ ” She grabs his wrist and shoves his hand down her body, between her legs. His fingertips brush over the drenched fabric of her underwear, barely grazing her clit, and Zelda’s whole body jerks, the shock of it jolting through her like electricity. He groans against her nipple like he’s the one being touched and scrambles up to his knees again, leaving her writhing and wound up and truly bereft.

“Okay,” he says, wildly, his face red, his eyes blazing. His fingers curl under the waistband of her underthings and he looks up at her face. “Can I--” he starts to ask, tugging lightly as though to pull them down. Zelda blurts “ _Please,_ ” and lifts her hips, shoving them down herself before he can even finish. He has to climb out from between her legs for them to actually get the garment off her, to both their frustration, and then suddenly Zelda’s naked and Link freezes, eyes glued to the thatch of gold curls between her thighs.

 _What--_ he asks, breathing hard, blinking occasionally as though to try and clear his vision. _What do you want?_

“I want to come on your fingers,” Zelda says crisply, sounding more confident than she actually feels. She lets her legs fall apart, baring herself to him, and the strangled little sound he makes thrums through her gut like a physical touch.

 _Fingers?_ he asks, hands shaking, breathing hard.

Zelda nods. “At least two,” she clarifies.

 _At_ **_least_** _?_ Link looks thunderstruck, dazed. She smiles and looks him up and down, letting her eyes linger on the bulge outlined in his dark blue shorts.

“If I really work at it I can get all four in there,” she admits with a shrug, her heart pounding and gut fluttering with the audacity of actually saying it out loud, “but I don’t think we have the patience for that today, do you?”

Link lets out a long, shuddering moan, hunching forward and pressing the heel of his hand against his shorts in what looks like a completely involuntary motion. “Fuck,” he pants, “fuck, Zelda, you’re gonna fucking kill me, aren’t you?”

“I might,” she says, reaching out with one foot to curl around his hip and urge him closer, “if you don’t make me come in the next five minutes.” Link crawls close enough that she can get her hands on him, and she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him in for a kiss. “I have been waiting for this for a hundred years, Link,” she whispers, pressing delicate little kisses along the shell of his ear. “Please forgive my impatience and fucking touch my fucking clit already.”

Link laughs, the sound all warm affection and hot desire. “I live to serve,” he says again, and climbs off her to the side. He curls against her like they do when they’re falling asleep, his head on her shoulder, his hand on her waist, except now Zelda’s naked and his cock is pressed to her hip and his hand is sliding lower over her abdomen to curl between her legs. In that way it’s really nothing like when they’re falling asleep, though it definitely bears a resemblance to some of Zelda’s dreams.

“Show me?” Link asks, his fingers gently tracing over the folds of her anatomy. She takes his hand and guides him to her clit, swollen and absolutely desperate for stimulation. “Oh,” she says at his first stroke, her legs trembling. “Yes,” she whispers when he presses a little harder and traces a circle, “yes, there.” Zelda takes her hand away, because he seems to have the hang of it now, and reaches up, unseeing, to clamp it onto the headboard.

When Zelda gets herself off, it’s with years of practice and, generally, as efficiently as possible. Link is not focused on efficiency. Link is focused on _her_ , with the precision and intensity of a Guardian beam. He pushes up onto his other elbow, eyes on her face, and works his hand through the slick at her core with careful, deliberate movements. Every sound she makes, every gasp and tremble and whimper and moan gets analyzed and filed away for future strategies as he learns her. When he does something especially good and she jerks her hips up into his touch, he repeats that thing precisely until her legs shake and her gut clenches and she’s whining on each exhale.

“Link,” she says, through the haze of her arousal, “Link, inside please. Please, I want to feel you, I want--” Her words cut off into a hissed moan as he slides his fingers lower, feeling out her cunt carefully as he works a finger into her. He makes a ragged sound to match hers as pumps his finger in and out of her a few times, then withdrawals completely so he can fuck her with two.

“Aaaah, fuck,” Zelda manages between gritted teeth, rutting her hips up into the stretch. It’s so shockingly _good_ , better than she was expecting. She’s familiar with penetrating herself but somehow being penetrated without feeling herself on her fingers is a completely new sensation. Link moves a little faster, his hand more sure, and she shoves her hips up to meet him and clenches around his fingers.

“You feel so _good_ ,” Link says roughly, mouthing at her jawline. “Is this good?” he asks, nipping her earlobe. “What do you need?”

It is good, it’s _so_ good, but it’s not quite enough. Zelda’s lost the words to actually explain, though, so she fists her hand into his hair and manages to get her other hand off the headboard to slide it between her legs. “Don’t stop,” she says, finding her clit with fumbling fingers. She strokes it roughly, absolutely no finesse, bumping against Link where he’s knuckle deep in her. “Fuck,” she gasps, every part of her being focused on the building pressure between her thighs. “Oh, fuck, _Link--_ ”

“Please,” he begs, fucking her with his hand hard and fast. “Please, I want to see it, Zelda.” He drops his head to her breast and pulls her nipple back into his mouth, his cock grinding against her hip in little jerks that he can’t seem to help. Every sensation cascades around inside of her to land in her cunt, like water behind a dam, the weight of it crushing the breath from her lungs. Zelda bites her lip and arches her back and strokes herself and clenches around his fingers and she _comes_.

“Yes,” she hears Link say from very far away as she convulses, vision gone black with the strength of it. “Yes, gods, you’re so beautiful.” His hand still moves, as do her fingers on her clit, and she gasps for breath and keeps fucking herself on his fingers as it goes on and on and on, wringing her out and leaving nothing behind. _Fuck._ Zelda collapses back to the bed, panting hard and not sure if she still has bones.

“That was so good,” Link says, pressing gentle kisses to her breast and shoulder and neck, leaving his fingers inside her as she occasionally jolts with a remaining burst of her orgasm. “That was _amazing_ , Zelda, gods and spirits.” She smiles lazily and pulls him up to her mouth with the fist she still has clenched in his hair. Link kisses her slow and sweet, as gently as a butterfly landing on a flower. It’s almost as though his hard, hot cock isn’t still pressed to her hip, demanding the attention its owner will never ask for with words.

“The way you’re talking,” Zelda says against his jawline, nipping at his skin, “it sounds like you’re the one who just had a mindblowing orgasm.” She kisses his mouth again before he can respond and manages to unclench her grip on his hair. “Your turn. On your back.”

Link shudders and does as asked, taking his hand out of her and leaving Zelda feeling vaguely empty and bereft. She manages to get up on all fours and fumble in the nightstand drawer for a handkerchief, which she drops on his face. He laughs and wipes his hand and _absolutely freezes_ when Zelda straddles his thighs and plants her hands on his bare chest.

“I’ve imagined this for a long time,” she tells him, her voice low, as she lets her hands roam over the hard planes and soft skin of his body. “You’re even prettier than I thought you’d be.” Link blushes crimson, all the way down his neck and to the tips of his ears, and he covers his face with his hands. “ _Please_ ,” he says, but he doesn’t say please _what_. Zelda cocks her head at him and gently encircles his wrists to tug his hands away.

“What?” she asks, pinning his hands to the pillow and leaning down to drop delicate kisses on his mouth and cheeks. “Does it make you blush when I tell you you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen?”

“Zelda,” he whines, turning his face to the side to try and hide it in the pillow, but he doesn’t tell her to stop and a quick glance confirms his cock is still interested, so she kisses his neck. “I know you know you’re attractive, Link,” she tells him, her lips brushing his earlobe. “You know half the people in Hyrule have a crush on you.”

“That’s different,” he manages, squirming a little under her thighs.

“How is it different, my beautiful knight?” Zelda drags her tongue down his neck and bites the muscle where it meets his shoulder. Link shudders and gasps, his wrists still lax under her hands even though they both know he could escape her grasp anytime he wanted.

“They’re not you,” he whispers, dragging his eyes to hers with an obvious struggle. “You know me. It’s different with you.”

Apparently Zelda’s days of falling more in love with Link are only coming to a middle, because she feels a great surge of protective, fond emotion. “My knight,” she says, releasing his wrists so she can cradle his face. “My beautiful, noble, kind, stunningly handsome knight.” Link flushes and avoids her gaze, but he also smiles and bites his lower lip in a kind of tortured joy. Zelda carefully catalogues all this information away for later and lets her hands drift over the tender skin of his neck and back down to his chest. Cupping his pecs, she strokes her thumbs over his nipples and drinks in the sounds he makes like cool water. He trembles, takes little audible breaths of air, and tries to press herself into her hands. His own hands, she notes with interest, are still on the pillow next to his head, his fingers flexing and relaxing. Interesting. She wonders if he thinks he needs permission to move them.

Zelda runs her hands down his ribcage, intending to reach his hips, but the fingers of one hand pass over a ridge of scar tissue that drops ice into her gut. She brings her eyes down to meet her hands and traces, delicately, over the neat line of a burn scar, carved across five of his ribs and raised from the surrounding skin. It’s obvious without asking that this is the one that did it, the wound that separated them for a century. Zelda glances back up at Link’s face, and he meets her gaze with a resigned sort of sadness. It’s all there, a hundred years of loss, etched eternally on his skin. She strokes it, gently, her eyes on his, and then scoots down his thighs and drops her head so she can lay open-mouthed kisses along it.

“If it wasn’t for this,” she says into the velvet quiet, her voice trembling, “we wouldn’t be here.”

“I know,” Link says, his voice breaking. Those two words carry the weight of everything they had then and everything they have now. Zelda kisses the scar again, then kisses her way back up his chest, up the side of his neck to his mouth. She captures his lips, stroking her tongue against his in a heady rhythm, and when the mournful energy is gone and he’s making urgent little sounds under her, she slides her hand down his abs to cup his cock.

“Oh hell,” he says, breaking away and tipping his head back into the pillow. He still hasn’t moved his hands, which is something that bears more investigation, but Zelda doesn’t have time for that right now. She moves her hand, her grip firm, familiarizing herself with the shape of him. Link whines and squirms and jerks his hips up into her grip, and every single one of his reactions shoots straight into the animal part of her hindbrain. She wants him like this all the time. She wants him helpless and out of control and desperate. She wants to take him apart with her _teeth._

“Can I take these off?” she asks, snapping the waistband of his shorts. Link nods furiously, eyes squeezed shut, his chest heaving. Her grin is all teeth as she slips her fingers under and carefully lifts them over his erection. She keeps her eyes on his legs, not looking at her prize until she’s worked the shorts off over his feet and thrown them on the floor. Only then does she climb back up his legs to straddle his thighs and really have a good eyeful.

Zelda has seen a lot of illustrations of penises, in various states of arousal, so she knows the basics about what to expect. In that way, Link looks perfectly normal. In every other possible way, though? In the fact that this is Link, naked and blushing under her and trying very bravely to look at her face? Her cunt clenches again, and Zelda doesn’t think she’s going to have the energy for a third orgasm today but her body signals its willingness to give it a shot.

“Beautiful,” she says softly, tracing the curved length of it up from the base to the tip, the hot skin velvety smooth under her fingertips. Link moans and shudders, bucking up into her touch. There’s fluid leaking from the tip, she notices with interest, and she swipes her fingertip through it and draws it back down his cock the other way. “Fuck,” Link says through his teeth, abs tense. “Fuck, Zelda, _please._ ”

Zelda looks at his face, then at his cock, flushed dark against his golden skin, and she thinks about the slick between her legs. “Hold on,” she says, climbing off him and hurrying to the vanity. She has an extra container of her facial oil near the mirror, and she jumps over the foot of the bed with the bottle held carefully in her hands. Resuming her previous straddle, she unstoppers it and pours a few drops of oil into the palm of her hand. The bottle goes on the nightstand, her eyes go back to Link’s, and she wraps her oiled hand around his cock with deliberate slowness.

“Ah,” he says on an exhale, thrusting up into her hand as much as he can with her weight on his thighs. She tightens her hand and strokes him, root to tip, the oil smooth against his hot skin. The texture of him is fascinating, a hard core with a soft exterior, silk and steel. Link’s face is a riot of expressions, and she watches him carefully as she moves her hand. Gone is his stoicism, his quiet, steadfast demeanor. Link bites his lips and thrashes his head, her every touch written on his face, his voice catching in a symphony of the most _delicious_ sounds Zelda’s ever heard. He whines and he gasps and moans and occasionally says a “Yes” or a “Please” and she’s so caught up in watching him that it takes her off guard when he clenches his fists, grits his teeth and comes almost silently, his cock twitching in her grasp. Hot fluid spurts over her hand and onto his stomach and chest, his hips bucking against the weight of her body and his length pulsing in her grip as she continues to stroke him. It’s the best thing she’s ever seen in her life, her knight undone under her with pleasure and knowing she’s the cause. There’s a dangerous kind of wanting in the back of Zelda’s mind, something with teeth and claws telling her to take him and keep him and have him like this forever. That’s something she’s going to have to think about more later, because in the present, Link is slack and pliant and almost purring under her.

Zelda rubs along his softening cock one more time and Link winces, his hand finally moving from the pillow next to his head to grab her wrist. “Too much,” he whispers, panting, and she releases him and gives his cock a friendly little pat. That makes him cover his face with his other hand and laugh. “You’re really something,” he says into his palm. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Zelda says, relishing getting to say the words in that order, and she tracks down the handkerchief. She wipes off her sticky hand and then tackles the mess on Link’s skin. (There’s a part of her that wants to do some investigation as to texture and consistency, but now that the urgency is gone she feels the weight of all the swimming and hiking they did today. When sleep comes for her tonight, it’s going to hit _hard_.) When he’s clean enough that she won’t glue herself to his body, she drops down and lets herself fall off him to the side. Her head goes on his shoulder, her legs go under his, and she wraps her arm around his waist and enjoys the satisfied, wrung out exhaustion in her limbs. After a moment’s thought she moves her hand from his waist to his pec and settles it firmly over his nipple.

Link laughs again and wraps his arm around her back, his hand sweeping back and forth on her ribcage. “Again? So soon?” He kisses the top of her head and settles his free hand over hers, trapping it against his skin.

“No,” she says dreamily. “Two was enough for tonight. I just figured… I _can_ now, when I couldn’t before, so I thought I should take advantage of it.”

“Take advantage of me any time you want, Zelda,” Link says, brushing his thumb over her fingers. Goddess, the way he says her name makes her go all melty, and she shuts her eyes and breathes him in. It’s perfect here, Link so warm and solid against her, the summer breeze through the window, their naked skin entangled. She soaks it in for a long moment, content.

And then she opens her eyes and pushes upright.

“Where are you going?” Link says, cracking one eye to look at her. He seems half asleep already, so she pokes his shoulder as she answers, “To clean my teeth. Same as you.” She rolls off the bed and stretches, which makes him open both eyes to watch the arch of her spine. “Also, it’s best practice for people with vaginas to pee after sexual activity, to cut down on the risk of bladder infections.”

Link stares at her with such bewildered fondness it’s tempting to climb back into the bed and kiss that expression off his face. “Princess,” he says, pushing up to one elbow, “never change.”

“No promises,” Zelda sing-songs, picking her way across their discarded clothes to the stairs.

Later, after they’re both clean and actually ready for bed, (and after Zelda combs the forgotten flowers out of her hair) they curl up under the sheets, skin to skin. The lamp is dark, but enough silvery moonlight shines through the window that Zelda can make out the shape of him, the planes of his face painted in light and shadow. His mouth moves, the ghost of a smile, his hand coming up to cup her jaw. “So,” he says, thumb drifting across her cheek. “Good birthday?”

“The best,” Zelda says, and she kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU'RE
> 
> WELCOME
> 
> I'm going to bed, perverts


	18. Chapter 18

Zelda wakes up, and for a long, bewildered moment, she doesn’t know why Link’s still in bed with her, and why he has one hand gently on her breast, and especially she doesn't know why they’re naked. Link mumbles something in his sleep and presses his face into her neck, and that’s when her brain catches up with the knowledge of her body. Right, yes, that actually happened. They finally got past their own ridiculous hangups and she got her mouth on his skin and her hands on his cock and she’s going to get to do it again and everything is fucking _awesome_ right now. She shuts her eyes and shifts a little, finding a more comfortable position, and in the process rubs her hip unintentionally into his erection.

Link makes a surprised sort of snort and his hand tightens slightly on her breast. She can pinpoint the moment he wakes up, because he goes completely rigid against her and stops breathing. His frantic thought process is practically audible. Zelda resists the urge to laugh at the poor thing--he doesn’t deserve that, not when she went through the same series of emotions approximately thirty seconds previously. It takes to the count of fifteen for him to make sense of the situation, at which point he relaxes out of his frozen panic and nuzzles his face more firmly into her neck.

“Hey,” he says, kissing her pulse point.

“Hey,” Zelda says, covering his hand on her breast with hers, just in case he’s thinking about moving it.

“I’m assuming,” he says, his lips close enough to brush her skin when he speaks, “that since we’re naked, last night actually happened and I didn’t dream it.”

“I suppose that depends on what you dreamed,” Zelda says reasonably, trying to figure out if she can grope him properly with her other hand. Hm, he seems to be basically laying on top of her arm, so it’s pinned to her side. Not a lot she can do there. “But we did ‘consummate our union,’ as the more repressed books like to put it.” She pauses and frowns at the ceiling. “Actually, I think those books don’t consider it consummation until there’s actually a penis in a vagina, so I guess _technically--_ ”

Link pushes up on one elbow and kisses her before she can finish the sentence. She shuts her eyes and leans into it. What a novelty, being kissed in the morning. What a _miracle._

“I was still talking,” she says when he pulls away and presses his lips lightly to her cheek. “Rude of you to interrupt me.”

“What can I say,” he whispers, kissing along her jawline to her ear. “I really like it when you get all technical. I couldn’t help it.” His hand moves on her breast, teasing her nipple until it pulls up tight. Zelda makes a pleased sound in the back of her throat and deliberately rubs against his cock again. Link hisses, right next to her ear, and recovers enough to nip at her earlobe.

“Wait,” Zelda says, as her brain catches up. “You were worried you dreamed it?” She turns her head to catch his gaze. “Do you have sex dreams about us?”

Link freezes like a rabbit before a wolf, his eyes going wide and his face going red. That answers her question as thoroughly as if he’d used actual words, and in the part of her brain that has teeth and claws, Zelda smiles. “What do you dream about?” she asks, her voice low, rolling her hip against the hot length of him, starting a rhythm.

Link shuts his eyes and tucks his head into her neck to hide his face. “I can’t--” he says, then cuts off into a gasp when she _really_ presses against him. His hips start working against her in little jerks, and he seems both embarrassed about it and helpless to stop it.

“Can’t what?” Zelda asks, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “Can’t talk about it?” Link nods and kisses her neck, apparently as an attempted distraction but she has the scent now and she’s not letting go. She gets her arm around the back of his neck and pulls until he crawls on top of her. Once her other arm is free she strikes, cupping his face in both hands and kissing him until he relaxes, until he thinks he’s _safe_.

“Why can’t you talk about it?” she asks in his ear, sliding her hand down between their bodies to lightly cup his cock. Link rocks into her grip a few times, moans into her neck, and finally blurts, “I just--I don’t understand how you _can_ talk about it.” Zelda bites his neck lightly as a reward for answering, and he shudders and manages, “How are you not _embarrassed?_ ”

“I am, a little,” Zelda admits, stroking him gently with one hand on his dick and the other on his back. “But talking about it is _important._ I mean, how are you supposed to give me what I want if I don’t ask for it?”

Link ruts into her hand and mouths at her neck. “I want to do what you want,” he says, his voice rough.

“I want you to tell me about one of your dreams,” Zelda orders, tightening her grip on his cock and giving him a firm stroke, base all the way to the tip. It leaks in her hand, which is convenient, and she sets about spreading that moisture to ease her way. Link makes an urgent sound and shudders again, full-bodied and somehow helpless in her grasp.

“You’re in one of the springs,” he says, like the words are being forced out of him. “You’re in the white dress.” The hitch in his voice is either from his embarrassment, or from the thing Zelda just did with her thumb right under the head of his cock. She strokes him again, prompting, “And?”

“It doesn’t work,” Link says, pushing himself halfway up onto his knees so he has more leverage to fuck into her grip. “You get--you get angry, when you come out of the spring.” His voice breaks again, and he braces himself on his elbows and breathes hard. “What happens then?” Zelda asks, running her hand from his shoulder down to his hip, splaying her fingers across the firm muscle of his glute and digging her fingernails in just a touch.

Link bites his lower lip on a gasp, swallows, and says shakily, “I--I ask if there’s anything I can do to help, and you--you--” His voice cracks and he shakes his head in frustration and shame, his face red out to the tips of his ears. With a sharp movement he shoves upright, pushing the blankets back, and gets his knees under him to straddle her hips, rutting into her hand the whole time. He takes a deep breath and his hands tremble when he signs, _You say yes, and you push me down and pull up the skirt and you--you make me use my mouth._ His cock leaks in her hand as he finishes, and he covers his face with one hand like that will hide his reaction, the other dropping to the mattress next to her shoulder to support his weight. The animal part of Zelda bares its teeth in satisfaction.

“Is that something you want?” Zelda asks, her voice gentle, keeping her hand moving on the hard, hot length of him. “Do you want to use your mouth on me?”

Link nods furiously, open-mouthed and panting. She thinks he’s getting close, and it’s tempting to finish him off like this, but… Zelda drops his cock and shoves herself upright, catching him around the back of the neck and pulling him to her mouth. The kiss is intense and all-consuming, a statement of ownership. Link wraps his arms around her back and kisses her back, going pliant underneath her mouth and making the most wonderful little sounds in the back of his throat. She breaks away when she feels him go boneless and braces her hands against his chest to push him over backwards. Link goes where she puts him, shuffling a little awkwardly so she can get her legs free from his and the blankets, and Zelda crawls up his body with intent.

“This, my love,” she tells him softly, dragging her tongue over his nipple as she goes, “is why it’s good to talk about it.” Zelda bites his collarbone and then kisses it to soothe the sting, Link moaning and arching under her. His hands roam her back, occasionally sliding down to cup her ass, and she relishes the power she has over him like this.

“Thank you for answering my question,” she says, cupping his face and tracing his lips with her thumb. His eyes are glassy, almost all pupil, and he’s not blushing quite so hard but there’s still an adorable wash of pink across his cheeks and nose. “Now that I know what you want,” she continues, pushing upright and settling one knee carefully to the side of his face, “I can give it to you.” She moves the other knee, straddling his head, and reaches down to stroke his bangs back out of his eyes. “Don’t you agree that’s a nice reward, my beautiful knight?”

Link blinks up at her, clearly a little dazed, and then involuntarily drops his eyes to her cunt, hovering patiently a few inches above him. He blinks again, shakes his head a little, and without further preamble wraps his arms around her hips and _yanks_ her down to his mouth. The first few movements of his tongue are hesitant as he feels her out. Then he finds her clit and Zelda shudders and grinds down instinctively. They both moan and he tightens his grip and rolls his tongue against her again, all the hesitation gone. Just like the previous night, all of his attention focuses on her, his eyes on her face past the curve of her stomach as they both learn what she likes. He experiments with some suction, which somehow makes her knees buckle even though she’s not standing up. One of her hands lands on the foot of the bed for balance and the other cards through his hair and grabs it, as though he might try to escape.

“Good,” she says, indistinctly, as he does it again. “That’s good, Link, you’re doing _so good_.” She rocks her hips against his mouth involuntarily, and he picks up on it and urges her wordlessly with his hands to do it harder. His hands are nimble, this she knows now from experience, but his mouth is something else entirely. “Yes,” she breathes, working herself on his tongue in earnest now, pleasure arcing up her spine to build between her legs. “Yes, Link, oh, yes, make me come.”

Link makes a ragged sound against her and shifts his grip, unwrapping one arm from around her leg. His purpose becomes clear moments later, as he adjusts the angle of his mouth and cautiously feels out her entrance. “ _Yes_ ,” Zelda says urgently, spreading her legs wider and tilting her pelvis so he has better access. “Fuck, yes, Link. _Fuck me._ ” He groans again, and she feels it on her clit even as he slips two fingers into her wet pussy, the stretch a little too rushed and also absolutely perfect. Her fingers clench in his hair as her body clenches around him, and she’s fucking against his mouth and his fingers now. “Fuck,” she whines again, her legs trembling, her abs tense, the fire burning all through her gut now. “Oh, fuck, Link.” Link drives his fingers up into her once more at the same time that he sucks on her clit, and that’s what pushed Zelda over the edge. She comes on his hand and his face and she makes sounds she’s never heard come out of her mouth before, her back bowed and her lungs burning. He doesn’t stop until she physically pulls herself off his mouth, stretching out her orgasm until it almost starts to hurt.

“So good,” she tells him, panting, taking in the absolute mess she left on the lower half of his face, his flushed cheeks, the blissed-out dreamy look in his eyes. Zelda unclenches her hand from his hair and combs her fingers through it it, trying to be gentle with her sex-drunk limbs. His eyes drift shut and he tilts his head into her touch, chest still heaving from his efforts. “You look stunning like this,” she says, both because it’s the truth and she wants to see his reaction. It doesn’t disappoint--Link goes redder, somehow, and tries to cover his face but one of his hands is still inside her and the other is wrapped around her leg. “Absolutely beautiful,” she continues, disentangling their limbs and moving down so she’s straddling his chest. “I want you like this all the time, all naked and debauched and spread out under me.” She cups his pecs and rolls her thumbs over his nipples. Link covers his mouth to try and smother the sound he makes, to no avail.

“Zelda,” he moans, squirming under her hands. She glances back down between her legs to confirm that he’s still incredibly hard, and apparently enjoyed himself enough to have visibly leaked onto his stomach. Her heart and her cunt both clench at the sight of him, flushed dark and straining. _Goddesses,_ she wants to take him inside her, but that’s a terrible idea on multiple levels. _Control._

Zelda slides further down his legs and sets her mouth to one of his nipples, keeping her fingers working on the other. Link practically convulses against her, his hips jerking up into her stomach, driving his cock against her skin. “Zelda,” he says, half a sob. “Zelda, _please_.”

Instead of answering, Zelda crawls back up his body to kiss him. He tries, briefly, to pull away, but she licks herself off his lips and he shudders under her and leans in. It’s not an unfamiliar flavor--sometimes one cleans oneself with whatever is at hand. Tasting it on Link, while the bed around them smells like him and he’s hard and hot underneath her? Zelda thanks all three goddesses and Hylia herself for this, for getting to have him.

“Do you want to come now?” she asks, her lips brushing his, and Link blurts, “ _Please,_ ” practically before she’s done speaking. Zelda kisses him again for good measure and drags his lower lip between her teeth. “I live to serve,” she tells him, and _really_ enjoys the gasp and twitch that elicits. She pushes up to her elbows and shifts her knees a little and gives in to the tiniest bit of temptation when she drops her wet cunt right onto his cock.

The shock of it makes Link sit halfway up, his abs curling to lift his torso off the bed reflexively. _We can’t,_ he signs, his eyes wide. _We can’t, you said--_

Zelda slides herself along him, base to tip, and back. “This much is fine,” she says, cupping his face tenderly, watching the mingled worry and heat war in his eyes. “As long as you don’t ejaculate directly onto my vulva, the risk is almost nonexistent.”

He wasn’t lying when he said he likes it when she gets technical--she feels him twitch under her and he bites his lip. _You’re sure?_ he asks, the tendons in his throat standing out as he swallows, his eyes almost, but not quite closing as she slides against him again.

“I’m sure,” she says, pressing his shoulders gently back down to the bed. “I’ve done the research.” Zelda cradles his face and runs her thumb across his lower lip, where he keeps biting it. “Let me take care of you, my love.”

Link shudders and relaxes, the panic fading away. She sets a rhythm with her hips, letting her own slick ease the way, and bites her cheek in satisfaction as the pleasure builds on his face. He’s so _expressive_ like this, wanton and wanting and spread out like a banquet. Zelda keeps her hips moving and curls down over him to mouth at his neck. His hands are slack on the sheets, and she wonders what it will take to get him to touch her.

“I dream about you, too,” she tells him, low and next to his ear. “They don’t always make sense, but, mmm.” Zelda bites his neck, right under his jaw, and Link makes a muffled little sound in response. His hips jerk up with almost no leverage, his legs still extended, and she thinks he needs a little more of a push.

“I’d be studying at my desk,” Zelda says, sitting back up and putting her hands on his chest so she can toy with his nipples. “It would be late, and you’d come in from the balcony.” Heat builds between her legs again, both from the confession and from her actions--she has the angle just right, and her clit rubs along his cock with each shift of her body. She doesn’t think she’ll be able to come again before Link does, but she’ll definitely keep this in mind for future experimentation. The current experiment is lying under her with wide eyes, his gaze fixed on hers, terrified and embarrassed and aroused all at once. His heart rabbits in his chest, she can feel it, and she pushes herself a little harder against him as she continues, “You’d try to make me go to bed, and I’d tell you I couldn’t sleep, and you’d say you knew what I needed.”

“Oh,” he says, shivering. It doesn’t seem to be in response to anything she actually said, more involuntary. She feels his cock move under her and speeds up her pace. “You’d pull me out of my chair, bend me over the desk, and get your hand under my nightgown. I’d already be wet, and you’d tease me while you got your cock out with your other hand.” Damn, maybe she _is_ going to come again, the tension coiling up between her legs as she speaks and moves. Link’s panting, practically not blinking, either afraid she’ll keep talking or afraid she’ll stop. Out of the corner of her eyes she sees his hands fist in the sheets and relax, over and over, pinching wrinkles into the linen.

“You’d lean over and whisper in my ear that I had to be quiet, so none of the other guards would hear me,” she says, her own breath coming faster now. “And then you’d push inside me, so slowly I’d be begging for it before you were halfway in.”

“Fuck,” Link says, weakly. He gets his feet up on the bed behind her, knees bracketing her hips, and uses the leverage to thrust against her movements. It changes the angle a little, adds more pressure to her clit. Zelda sucks in a shaky gasp and keeps going. “You’d fuck me like that, face-down against the desk, and I’d have to be _so_ quiet so no one would find out.” The pace is frantic now, Link’s abs so tight she could trace the individual muscles, her thighs shaking as she clenches on nothing and, again, wishes she could take him inside her. She wants to be _full,_ she wants to be _stretched,_ she wants to know what it feels like to have him come while she’s all around him.

“Zelda,” he groans, and finally, _finally_ his hands come off the sheets to clamp onto her hips. They’re firm on her skin, his fingertips digging into the curve of her glute, his thumbs at the crease of her thighs. “Fuck, _Zelda,_ please don’t stop, I’m gonna--” His voice breaks before he can say, which isn’t a surprise with how he’s practically hyperventilating, head thrown back on the mattress.

“When I’d come, you’d have to put your hand over my mouth to muffle the sounds,” she says, his pleasure somehow looping back into her, driving them both to the brink. “You’d fuck me until I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could only beg you for more.” Zelda shivers, white-hot light sparking in her clit and her cunt and crackling through her body. “Oh, fuck, Link, it felt so good, this is so good, you’re _so good_ , my love.” Her voice cracks on the last word as his cock nudges against her clit just right, and she comes, the rush of it leaving her lightheaded. Link follows after almost immediately, both of them crashing together in a clumsy, frantic grind. The tendons on his neck stand out, his back arching off the mattress, his breath coming in desperate, ragged gasps. Zelda barely has enough sense to adjust her movements so none of his release actually touches her, watching with interest and a fierce satisfaction as it pools across his stomach, some of it as far as his chest. After a long, shuddering moment of tension he collapses back to the bed like a puppet with its strings cut, his chest heaving.

“Fuck,” he says, very quietly, a lifetime of emotions behind the word, and Zelda agrees. There are, unfortunately, practicalities to attend to. She climbs off him, barely managing not to kick him in the face as she does, and finds a clean handkerchief since the one from last night doesn’t bear thinking about. As soon as she’s cleaned him up he curls into her, hiding his face in her collarbone, the occasional tremble still jolting through his frame. She strokes his hair and kisses the crown of his head, so full of a tender affection that she almost wants to cry.

“Was that good?” she asks, because he’s breathing like he’s trying to fight off tears himself. Did she push him too hard, with this wild part of her that wants to sink its talons in and never let go?

“Yes,” he says, weakly, and kisses her chest. “Just--good. And a lot.” Link’s voice peters out, like he’s not quite done speaking, so Zelda kisses his head again and waits patiently. “We spent so long _not_ that it’s--it’s still such a _relief._ ” He pushes away enough that he can make eye contact, his cheeks still pink as he admits, “And I can’t quite shut up the part of me screaming that this is inappropriate and I’ll get kicked out of the guard for it.”

“Pish-posh,” Zelda says, in her most formal tones. “I’m the head of the guard now, and I’m revising your duties to include orgasms, effective immediately.”

Link dissolves into weak, watery giggles, blushing hard. He covers his face with both hands and manages, “I live to serve, Princess.” She grins and pulls his face back to her chest, tucking her chin over the top of his head. “I love you,” she says, carding her fingers through his hair, and he goes pliant and relaxed under her touch.

“I love you, too,” he says, draping an arm around her waist and kissing her collarbone again. Link takes a hesitant breath and asks, “Is that--is that something you want?”

“Hm?”

“With the--the thing with the desk,” he clarifies, and she can feel the heat of his blush on her skin.

“Oh,” Zelda says, a tug of something in her guts, desire and fondness together. “I certainly wouldn’t say no, if it was something you were interested in.”

Link pulls away again, facing her, their faces pressed to the rumpled sheets. He brings up one hand to rest on her cheek, his thumb settling into the divot at the corner of her mouth. Their eyes lock for a long time, and a myriad of emotions roil in the blue of his, like barely-glimpsed creatures in the deep ocean. “I want,” he says, very carefully, “to do what you want.”

There’s a lot to unpack, in those seven words, more than Zelda feels capable of handling right now. She does the sensible thing instead and kisses him. “What I want right now,” she tells him, her lips brushing his, “is to go wash up and have breakfast. Not to be crass but I think my thighs are about to glue themselves together.”

Link snorts, right in her face, and tips onto his back, covering his face with his hand. “Gods, Zelda,” he says, so fondly it makes her heart hurt, “if that’s you trying not to be crass I’m terrified of what you’re capable of.”

“I’m capable of anything,” she says lightly, pushing to her feet and picking her way across the field of clothing debris that is currently their floor. “Now come on, you can wash my back.”

Link beats her to the stairs.

They don’t fill up the tub completely, just draw a couple of buckets so they can scrub off the worst of the stickiness. Every time Link touches her it’s with a little expression of awe on his face, like he can’t believe it’s happening. Zelda knows the feeling--she can’t seem to keep her hands off him, not even in a sexual way. Her fingers settle on his shoulder, his elbow, the nape of his neck, the jut of his hip. Every time it’s novel, a freedom she never allowed herself before, and she finds herself having to kiss him more than once just to keep an incoherent babble of emotions from welling up out of her throat. Eventually they put their pajamas on--well after getting out of bed, which for some reason Zelda finds hilarious--and have day-old scones for breakfast. _They’re really not as good,_ Link apologizes, and she reaches across the table to pull him in by the tunic and kiss him. Ridiculous, this knight of hers. When she drops him back into his chair his eyes are dazed and his smile is dreamy. Zelda takes another bite of her scone. She loves him _so much_.

After they eat they tackle the mess left over from the day before. The sheets absolutely need to be washed, and Zelda looks at the bedside table and makes some calculations about laundry and handkerchiefs, and possibly the need for a basin and pitcher up here. She should get a bottle of a cheaper oil, as well--something intended for the body, not the face. The general store ought to have some appropriate options, and they’re low on butter anyway, so they can head down later. She turns, still thinking through logistics, to find Link in front of the mirror with a thoughtful frown. He turns side to side, eyes on his reflection, and Zelda realizes he’s wearing the blue dress she wore the night before. The arm holes were cut generously, so they fit around his shoulders, and with the lacing up the front it adjusts to his frame quite nicely, actually. He has it on over one of his white undershirts, the deep blue stunning against the pale linen and the golden glow of his skin, the skirt falling to just below his knees. He looks _beautiful_. The possessive part of Zelda wakes up again, demanding that she go over there and shove him up against the dresser and show him exactly how beautiful he looks, and what it does to her to see him in her clothes. She takes a deep breath, instead. _Control._

He hears her and turns to catch her eyes, ears pinking. _I--_ he starts, and Zelda crosses the room to kiss him, chaste and soft. “It looks good,” she says, pressing their foreheads together. “I said you could try it and I meant it.”

Link kisses the corner of her mouth, then the side of her nose, then her eyebrow. _Thanks,_ he signs, pulling away far enough to get his hands visible. _If I don’t hate it maybe I’ll get one for myself._

“Mmm,” she says, her hands resting on his hips. “You’d look good in red.”

Link flushes again and glances away. _You know I think you’re beautiful, right?_ he asks abruptly. _I never--I didn’t say it before. But I do. Think that._

Zelda cups his face and looks down into his eyes, so familiar and so new all at once. “I know,” she says, softly. “I could tell. But it’s nice to hear it.” Link smiles, so brilliant it lights up his whole face, and kisses her as delicately as though she might shatter. Zelda gets her hands into his hair and scritches his scalp, deepening the kiss just a little, but not too much, because…

“Come on,” she says against his mouth. “We need to do laundry.”

They don’t travel that day, other than up to see Purah so Zelda can ask seventy-five questions about getting pictures off the slate. There’s ancient technology involved, apparently, which Purah swears she’ll look into. “It wasn’t exactly a priority when I didn’t have access to the slate, Zelly!” she points out over lunch. “You might need to leave it with me for a couple of days once I have some experiments ready to run.”

“Oh, I think we can find some ways to spend our time if we’re stuck at home,” Zelda says mildly, and Link chokes on his tea.

The general store _does_ have oil intended for moisturizing the body, for a much lower price than the more-refined facial oils. Zelda buys a bottle and gives Link a look that makes him blush all the way down to his neck. He manages to tolerate the dress for their morning outing, but as soon as they get back to the house he changes into trousers. _We’re sparring today,_ he tells her as they put away the shopping. _You don’t get the advantage of me struggling with a skirt as I spar yet._

“As though it would be much of an advantage,” Zelda scoffs, knocking him lightly with her shoulder. “Are you going to get better at wearing skirts and _then_ spar in them? How is that fair?”

Link flushes a little and admits, _It’s yours. I just don’t want to tear it._

“Fair enough,” Zelda says, instead of “I love you.” Then she shakes her head, because _really,_ and says, “I love you,” as well. Link puts away the butter and pulls her in, his lips brushing over her jaw lightly.

“Don’t think that I’m going to go easy on you if you flatter me, Princess,” he breathes in her ear, and she grins wickedly, where he can’t see her.

“Didn’t you know?” she says, her voice bright and innocent. “I like it hard.”

Link splutters, choking on air, and he’s still blushing when they make it out to the meadow, weapons in hand. Weapons practice is more physically charged than previously, which is interesting--Zelda thinks logically that it should feel _less_ tense, on account of the sexual tension being very explosively released. Now, though, the knowledge that at any time, one of them could throw down their sword or spear to grab the other… Well, they don’t actually _do_ it, but the potential is there, simmering through the air. She pushes it aside, trying her damndest to disarm Link at least _once_. She fails, unsurprisingly, but she can see the potential of the achievement, now. Archery goes well--the goddess-trance comes faster, her accuracy improving. To her delight, she’s strong enough to move up to the eagle bow permanently. It leaves her extra sore, shoulders loose and aching, but the warmth of the accomplishment is enough to carry her through.

“I need to go foraging tomorrow,” she says over dinner, which is hastily-prepared omelets, and really only made because Link insists she needs to eat protein after training and not just have cake for dinner.

 _We just went shopping?_ It’s halfway between a question and a statement, Link’s fork glinting in the lamplight as he moves his hands.

“I need specialty herbs,” Zelda clarifies. “For--” and she gestures downward at her abdomen. Link freezes for a second, and she wonders when that will stop being his automatic reaction. _I see,_ he signs when he starts breathing again. _Make me a list and I’ll figure out the best locations to look?_

“Deal,” she says, and finishes her omelet. Another third or so of the cake later, after the dishes have been washed, she makes good on the promise and hands over a piece of parchment covered in her neat handwriting. Link looks it over, nods, and then in return hands her a stack of tunics. Zelda blinks at them, and then at him.

 _You said you’d embroider them._ His hands are hesitant, his face a little shy. _I thought--It’s okay if you changed your mind--_

“No,” Zelda interrupts, pulling the fabric closer and hugging it to her chest. “No, I want to, it’s just… It seems like yesterday morning was a million years ago.” Link grins, giving her a wry nod, and she continues, “Did you have anything in mind?”

He narrows his eyes at the tunics in her arms, thinking it over. _You do really nice botanicals,_ he tells her, flicking his gaze back up to her. A bit of color comes into his cheeks when he adds, _Could you… Could you maybe do some floral patterns?_

Zelda smiles at him, soft and sweet. “Of course,” she says, and this time she thinks he hears the “I love you” behind the words, because his face lights up like a sunrise.

They climb in between the fresh sheets that night while the sunset still tints the light outside the window. Link has one of his romance novels and Zelda has some paper and graphite, so she can sketch out designs for his tunics. She double-checks that the supply of hankies in the nightstand has been replenished and that the pitcher has water, then turns her attention to laying out a border. He needs to have something embroidered with Silent Princesses, at the very least, and there’s a dark blue tunic in the pile that seems like a good bet for that pattern. Or maybe she should do celestial patterns on the dark blue, and save the Silent Princesses for the green tunic? She gets through several sketches, refining the design as she goes, when Link very gently puts his hand on her thigh.

“Um,” he says when she looks up at him, red up to his ears, the romance novel closed and set aside. “I know we--this morning, but I--do you want to? Again?” He swallows nervously but maintains eye contact. Zelda wonders what it costs him to actually ask out loud like this, and Hylia above, she loves him. With neat movements she gathers up her drawing materials and sets them on the nightstand.

“Come here,” she says, fisting her hand in the front of his nightshirt and pulling him on top of her. He goes where she puts him, and he smiles down at her, and he kisses her, and everything is _perfect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zelda has zero shame  
> Link has all the shame  
> Between them it's a normal amount of shame
> 
> I am shameless enough to write fic at work but not quite shameless enough to write the porn parts at work, which is why this took longer. Also I finished building my patio, so sorry not sorry.


	19. Chapter 19

It takes a few days for Zelda to gather all the herbs she needs for the contraceptive elixir. She doesn’t want to have to do this again anytime soon, so she makes sure she lays in a good supply. Link helps her tie up the bundles to dry in the storage space under the stairs, the scent in the air grassy and floral and a bit astringent. He brushes his hand against hers as they hang up the last bundle, something sparkling in his eyes. Zelda shoves him up against a crate and gets her hands in his trousers within a minute.

The elixir won’t be ready for a week. It’s a complicated brew, with a lot of steps, not something as simple as a speed increase or making the body resistant to heat. The Hylian reproductive system is a challenge to overcome, which means the elixir needed has to be a challenge to produce. Zelda sets up tinctures and infusions and spends one evening carefully reducing a flask of liquid over a low flame, Link watching the process with interest. It’s the first time she’s brewed this, and she absolutely does not want to mess it up, so she takes her time. She waits, and she goes through all the steps in order, and she thinks about the day she’s actually going to take him inside her. It’s not as though the lack of contraception prevents them from having sex--they’re both absolutely insatiable, as it turns out, the dam of their self-control broken and their desire flowing out in a flood. She’d always assumed that once she had an actual sexual partner, her constant, simmering _want_ would lessen. That assumption was incorrect. Her want is a fire, coals always waiting to be rekindled, and every time Link touches her he stokes it. The fuel is never consumed, it never runs out, it’s always there and waiting. Zelda lays on her back, Link’s head between her legs and her hand in his hair, and she _burns._

In spite of their newfound hobby (as Zelda puts it one morning, which makes Link choke on his tea) they do continue her research on the new Hyrule. They’re almost through visiting each stable to interview the people there, after which Zelda wants to make a survey of all the bridges. She squints at the map of Hyrule on the slate and sketches a larger one, which she labels with things like “completely destroyed,” “rebuilt with wood--rickety,” and “minor repairs needed.”

“I think,” she says one morning after breakfast, running her fingers over the sketched waterways of the continent, “that I need to go survey the castle.” Her voice betrays the emotions she’s trying to hide, and Link abandons the dish he’s drying to come rest a hand on her shoulder.

“Okay,” he says, quietly, and she puts her hand over his and squeezes his fingers. “I’ll be all right,” she tells him, breathing slowly. “It’s important. I need to know.”

“Okay,” he says again, and his fingers tighten, not enough to hurt but enough to ground her in the here and now. Zelda pats his hand in thanks and he goes back to the dishes.

Before they head out Link arms her with the silverscale spear and the eagle bow. _Remember you can tell what arrow you’re about to draw by the feel of it,_ he tells her before carefully adjusting the strap of the quiver.

“Right. Ice arrows feel cold, fire arrows feel hot, shock arrows buzz, and you don’t trust me with bomb arrows yet.” She smiles, only a little brittle. “I’ve been listening.”

Link’s hands still on her shoulder, where he’s unnecessarily checking another strap. He sighs. _I know. You’re doing great and I trust you and I’m still freaking out about you actually being in a fight. I’m sorry._

“I’m better prepared now for a fight than I ever was before,” she reminds him.

 _I know,_ he signs again, looking a little more settled. _Hylia have mercy on whatever gets in your way._ With that he holds out his arms and Zelda steps into them, pressing as close as she can. Today is going to be hard, and she drinks up the physical support like a sponge.

The shrine they materialize in is in the docks, deep in the bowels of the castle. It’s dark down here but for a few torches, humid from the water and cool. It’s a refreshing change from the heat of Hateno in full summer, and Zelda wishes she were capable of enjoying it instead of feeling dread and old, remembered pain as they well up in her guts. She steps away from Link and turns slowly, getting her bearings. It’s not as though she had call to be down in the docks much, as a princess, but when she was young enough to still be allowed to be young she’d explored Hyrule Castle wall to wall, top to bottom. She was part of the very stone in the walls, in her hundred years here. Zelda takes a deep breath and she listens.

 _Lizalfos?_ she asks Link with her hands. He startles, because she doesn’t usually address him this way, but it’s silent and therefore convenient. _Yes,_ he responds. _A nest, down by the water._

Zelda sighs--she really didn’t want to get into a battle today, but part of her survey includes the actual docks themselves, so she needs to see them up close. _Strategy?_ She’s not as good at actually signing as she is at reading it, so her questions aren’t exactly eloquent. Link understands, though.

 _Shock arrows before I go down, ice arrows after. I’ll draw them, you stay in cover._ Zelda unslings her bow and strings it with a practiced movement, hands steady. Link looks at her, face unreadable in the dim light, then surges forward to kiss her, hard.

“I love you,” he breathes, barely audible. “Be careful.”

“You too,” she says in answer to both, and she draws a shock arrow and nocks it to the string. They slink forward to the railing, together, and Zelda presses herself against it and peers over the stone. She counts three lizalfos, two blue and one red, but knows there are probably more where she can’t see them. Link drops his hand on her shoulder, squeezes once, and gives her a nod before he glides down the stairs. She waits until he reaches the bottom, still out of sight, and takes a deep breath. The goddess trance flows into her willingly, smooth and cool as the stone around her.

Zelda draws.

Zelda fires.

The lizalfos crackle in the stillness, weapons crashing to the ground in a clattering of metal that seems far too loud. The noise draws another out of hiding, scrambling across the docks to investigate, and her next shock arrow hits that one as well. Link’s moving, driving forward out of cover, sword gleaming in his hand, and Zelda switches to ice arrows, freezing two of the lizard-creatures in place. Link dispatches the nearest easily, dodging the whip of its tail before his sword strikes in a flash. The next one falls as well, Link upon it before it has time to react. Zelda keeps her arrows and attention trained on the icy forms of the two remaining, ready to re-freeze them if necessary, but they shatter beneath Link’s blade, leaving the room silent again but for the wash of the water against the docks and their own breathing.

“Clear,” Link says, and Zelda emerges from the trance and heads for the stairs. They’re rounded in the middle, worn down from years of use, and for some reason that detail lodges in her head. Her eyes go from the stairs up to Link, and then pull over to the bodies, lifeless and sprawled across the stone. Bodies that she helped make that way.

“Do we need to do anything to the bodies?” she asks, clinical, aware of some emotions very far away that she doesn’t have time for right now.

Link shakes his head. _Now that they’re dead they’ll dissolve in less than a day. It’s some kind of super-powered decomposition into dust. I stayed to watch once, because I was curious._ He meets her eyes and makes a face. _It was gross._

“Did you take notes?” Zelda asks, interested despite herself.

Link’s face crinkles with amusement. _No, but if you really want we can stay here overnight so you can conduct your own research._

“No thank you,” she says, quietly. “I think I’ll be spending quite enough time in the castle today.”

He looks like he wants to respond, his throat working and his hands almost, but not quite, motioning something. She waves a hand in dismissal and reassurance and stows her bow. The travel journal replaces it in her hands, and Zelda starts her survey. The main structures of the dock are intact, though the wood is obviously rotten, detritus and garbage from the lizalfos infestation in drifts against the walls. With those cleared and the timbers replaced, it would be usable again quickly. She jots down a last note and tucks the journal back away, turning on her heel toward the stairs.

And she stops, frozen with an inner struggle. She’s not sure how long she stands there, thinking, but it’s long enough that she startles when Link rests a hand lightly on her shoulder. “Princess?” he asks, his voice low and concerned.

“I want to do something for them,” she says, her voice cracking. “It’s not--it’s not their fault, not really.” Zelda turns to Link, ready to plead, or explain, and finds nothing but a soft understanding and quiet grief in his eyes. “I know,” he says, and squeezes her shoulder.

They move the bodies in silence, settling the lifeless lizalfos together in a line, near the fire. There’s the remains of a rotten, mildewed canvas tarp shoved into a corner. Zelda shakes off the worst of the dirt and spreads it over the corpses, a shroud for the dead. Do they have funerary rituals, she wonders? They’re capable of making and using tools and weapons. Do they have a language? Would it be possible to open diplomatic negotiations? Is it too late to be asking these questions now, after so many centuries of mutual enmity?

Link waits beside her, patiently, while she sorts through the deluge of thoughts that threaten to drown her. Finally her hands move, sketching out the traditional motions of the prayer for the dead, that they find peace in the next life. Once her hands still she turns and walks away, the bodies already somehow more indistinct under the fabric. He follows, one step to the side and two steps back, and that familiarity presses a little bit of warmth back into her heart, chilled by the water and the stone and the damp air of this place.

The castle is a tomb. She knew this, logically, but logic couldn’t prepare her for the reality, for the feeling of walking down a hall with the familiar carpet destroyed under her feet by age and claws. The wrongness catches her at strange times--Zelda carefully moves the skeleton of a guard into what looks like a more comfortable position and gestures the prayer over the bones with a calm certainty, then walks around the next corner to find a broken plate, one she remembers eating from, and the horror of it all stabs through her guts like a particularly bad menstrual cramp. The porcelain clinks beneath her boot before she can halt her movement and it sounds like a bomb arrow. She thinks she makes a noise, because Link catches her elbow in support. “Zelda?” he asks, all concern, and Zelda shuts her eyes. She takes everything she’s feeling, all the inconvenient emotions and outsized reactions, and she crams it into the pages of a book and shelves that book in her mental library. There isn’t time for this now. There will be time for it later.

“It’s fine,” she says, exhaling and opening her eyes. “Let’s keep moving.”

They climb through the catacombs and the hallways, explore the gate houses and the walls. The guardians still whirr from place to place, the mechanical movements now aimless and unthreatening. Zelda glares at each one, her eyes never wavering, unconsciously putting her body between the automatons and Link. _Not this time, you fucker,_ she thinks viciously, her fingers itchy on the handle of her bow. It’s all unnecessary, of course--the Calamity is gone, so the malevolent energy in the guardians is as well. She doesn’t think she’ll ever relax around them, not really, but she resists the urge to attack them out of a misplaced lust for revenge. That would not be productive, to say the least, and Zelda’s here on a mission.

It’s lunchtime by the time they make it up to the sanctum, which Zelda doesn’t feel the need to look at too closely since she spent a _lot_ of time there, and also it no longer has a _floor_. Link takes one look at her face and pulls her over to a turret, herding her up the ladder to the roof. He takes her by the shoulders, points her out at the view of the Hebra mountains, and makes her sit down. Part of her bristles at his presumptiveness, but she recognizes that as the same part of her that hated him at sixteen. It’s difficult not to slide back into old habits, here, habits that didn’t serve her then and certainly won’t serve her now. He hands her a waterskin and she drinks. He hands her a rice ball and she eats. He puts his hand on her back, steady between her shoulder blades, and Zelda leans in so she can breathe the smell of him.

“We don’t have to stay,” he says, quietly and like he knows what her answer is going to be. Zelda smiles. “I know,” she replies. “But I want it done as quickly as possible so I can stop thinking about it and possibly never come back here again.”

He huffs something like a laugh and helps her back to her feet. _Where to next?_

“The library,” Zelda decides, her eyes out on the landscape, drinking in the green of the hills and the distant blue-white of the mountains. She lets it fill her up until there’s no room left for grief or pain before she turns on her heel and strides back to the ladder. “I’m going to loot it.” She glances at Link over her shoulder, flashing him a grin that’s only slightly forced. “You’re going to help.”

Link laughs, for real this time. “I live to serve, Princess,” he says, following her down.

There are lizalfos in the library, as well. _I was in a hurry when I came, last time,_ Link explains, pressed against a wall as they scout the situation. _I didn’t really stop along the way to take care of things._

 _No apology,_ Zelda tells him, inexpertly. _Where?_

_Two on the main floor, three above._

Zelda nods and draws a shock arrow from her quiver, raising it and her brows at Link in question. He nods and she nocks it against the string. They slink inside, staying low behind tables and crates. Link signals for her to stay where she is and presses on. Zelda waits, her hands on the bow, the goddess trance waiting in her bones, and at his signal, she fires.

It goes quickly and quietly enough that the two lizalfos on the ground floor die without the others realizing it. Zelda alternates between proud and horrified, wobbling back and forth between the two like a drunk on a tightrope. Is this how Link feels all the time? This mix of accomplishment and guilt? She shakes her head to clear it and slips forward to press herself against the edge of the stairs, waiting for Link to make the next move. He disappears, the sound of metal against metal announcing his attack. She counts the seconds, waiting for silence to fall, casting her eyes back out across the library, just as another lizalfos _jumps off the fucking balcony and charges her._

Later, she won’t be able to remember the precise moment the stows the bow and readies the spear. It’s just suddenly in her hands, the metal cool against her skin, and she sets herself into the corner of the wall with planted feet. Core tight, legs ready to move, keep the enemy on a diagonal to present as little of a target as possible, and above all, keep it _away_ . It carries a short, wickedly curved blade and a shield, so she has the advantage of reach as long as she doesn’t let it use the tail. She watches it come, eyes flicking between its hands and face and tail, and when it skids to a stop, raising the weapon hand, she shifts her weight and _strikes_. The curved head of the silverscale spear slaps into the scaled hide of the lizalfos, driving it backward, and she presses her advantage, turning the blow into a diagonal movement and knocking its shield arm wide. As it reels for balance she changes her grip, reversing the direction of the spear to bring it down in a crushing slash. Zelda gets it across the face, snapping its head away from her, and leaps backward to dodge the whip of its tail. The dodge… isn’t _entirely_ successful, as she takes a blow across her thighs that will hurt a lot when she has a moment to pay attention to it. It’s not quite enough to take her off her feet, the lowered fighting stance truly baked into her muscle memory at this point, so she just grunts, adjusts herself, and lunges again. Metal screeches against metal as it tries to deflect her spear with its blade, but she has momentum and a lot more weapon. The spear bites into the lizalfos, brackish blood spilling from the wound, and Zelda keeps pushing, driving the point deeper. The lizalfos screams and jerks away from her, yanking itself free (and making the damage even worse). With a flourish, she whirls, bringing the spear around in a shining arc, building up speed before she strikes the monster in the head with all the weight of the metal and the movement together. The impact jars her shoulders, and she knocks it fully off its feet. When she collects herself and pauses, panting with the point of the spear up defensively, the silence that falls is stifling. The lizalfos doesn’t move again.

“ _Zelda!_ ” Link yells, leaping over the railing to land in front of her, eyes wide with panic. Before she can blink he’s dragged her out of the main room, shoving a metal bookcase out of the way with the slate and depositing her in a musty alcove. It must come up from the catacombs, she thinks to herself as he yanks the bookcase back into place and manhandles her up to sit on a crate.

“Are you all right?” he asks urgently, his hands on her face, her ribs, her arms, checking her for injuries as much as reassuring himself. “I’m so sorry, they must have heard me, normally they don’t come down like that--”

“I’m fine,” Zelda says, the shocky feeling of the fight fading away to be replaced with a fond sort of affection at his fussing. “It whipped me across the legs and I’ll probably have some spectacular bruises, but otherwise it didn’t hit me at all.”

“Are you sure?” Link says, turning her so he can check her back, his hands shaking so badly that she can feel it through the leather of her breastplate. “Sometimes you won’t feel it until you notice you’re bleeding, _fuck,_ I should have left you in better cover--”

“ _Link,_ ” Zelda says, more firmly this time, grabbing his face in her hands to force eye contact. “I promise I am uninjured. This wasn’t your fault, and if you’d left me in better cover something could _still_ have snuck up on me because you can’t be everywhere at once.”

He stares at her for a long moment, one hand on her hip and the other on her ribs. She watches him go on an intense emotional journey in that time, things flashing across his face too quickly for her to read. Something in him snaps at the end of it, and before she can take her next breath his mouth is on her.

Link’s kiss is hot, hard, and hungry. There's a sharp edge of desperation in it, but that might also be his teeth in her lower lip. Zelda has a very brief moment of bewilderment before all the leftover jitters from the fight flip over into arousal so quickly it leaves her reeling, and she tangles her hands in his hair and kisses him back. He yanks her closer with his hands on her hips and bends her over to lay on the crate, pushing her into the wood with his whole body weight. His tongue shoves into her mouth like he owns her and Zelda is, frankly, _shocked_ at how her body responds, burning hot and trying to arch against him. She wraps her legs around his hips and pulls him closer, hands tugging at his hair maybe a little too hard, and Link _actually fucking growls_ against her mouth and pulls away to bite her jaw. What is _happening?_

“Link,” she says as he bites his way down her neck, rocking his hips against hers. The sound she makes at that causes her to forget what she was saying for a moment, writhing under him instead as he does something with his tongue and her collarbone. “Link,” she finally manages, the logical part of her brain doing a valiant job of dragging her back on-task, “Link, we probably shouldn’t do this _here_.” Is he hard? She pulls him away from her neck by the hair, and in the process he grinds against her again and confirms that _yes_ , he is. His face is red and his eyes are dazed and his jaw is a little slack. “What?” he asks, voice breathy. Did he even hear her?

“I said,” Zelda says a bit more firmly, her heart still racing and her libido complaining about the interruption, “we should probably not have sex on a crate in an alcove in the half-destroyed castle we came to survey.”

Link blinks at her once, then again. His eyes focus and the color in his face shifts from excitement to embarrassment as he pushes himself upright. “Fuck,” he says, with feeling. “Oh, gods, you’re right, I’m so sorry.”

“I definitely don’t need an apology,” Zelda says, squeezing him tighter with her legs and shuddering at the sensation, just to tease, before she releases him and pushes up to her elbows. “It’s just--unsanitary. And… what was that _about?_ ”

He takes a step back and turns away to adjust himself, which is _adorable_ because it’s not like she hasn’t seen him naked. She saw him naked _last night_. Why does he need privacy for this? “It turns out,” he says to the wall, the tips of his ears red with his blush, “that I find your new skills extremely appealing.”

“Then why hasn’t this happened after training?” Zelda asks, interested, sitting the rest of the way up and adjusting her armor. “Because now that I know it’s an option I’m going to be thinking about it a lot.”

“It’s--” Link says, trailing off. She sees his hands flex at his sides a few times before he turns around, his eyes determinedly on the wall next to her ear. _The adrenaline in a fight or flight situation sometimes likes to hang around afterward and that energy can manifest as… other emotions,_ he explains, his face as blank as he can make it. _Training doesn’t inspire the same physical and emotional response._

Zelda translates that mentally and tries not to smirk. “Does fighting make you horny, Link?”

“No!” he blurts, then blushes. _Not usually,_ he clarifies. _Some of the other knights talked about it, which is how I know but this is… new._

“Ah,” Zelda says thoughtfully. “Watching _me_ fight makes you horny.”

He is so red now that she almost feels bad about it. _Apparently,_ he signs with the most long suffering sigh she’s ever heard. _Can we please stop talking about it?_

“For now,” Zelda allows as she pushes back to her feet. The pain in her thighs from the tail whip makes her wince just barely. Those are definitely already bruising. “I intend to explore this phenomenon further on a better occasion.”

Link squints at her. _I can’t tell if I should be excited or scared._

“No reason you can’t be both,” she says, leaning in to kiss him lightly. “Now please move this bookcase, we have a library to loot.”

They shift the bodies, first of all, laying them out in one of the hidden alcoves, Zelda gesturing the prayer for peace over them before they move the bookcase back to block the makeshift tomb. Link’s theory that Zelda’s protective magic affected the castle as well as the Calamity must be correct, Zelda thinks as they survey the books. These should be rotten, mildewed messes. Instead they’re slightly fusty and swollen with moisture, but still otherwise intact. Her first instinct is to save _all_ of them, a researcher to the bone, but there wouldn’t be room in their house, even if they took everything out of the storage room and packed it floor-to-ceiling. Maybe they can make more than one trip, and bring some of them to Purah and Robbie at some point in the future. Link hands her one, startling her out of her trance, and she glances at the cover to find it’s an adventure story, one she’s re-read enough times to have practically memorized. She glances at him, touched, and he smiles triumphantly. _I just now remembered you liked that one,_ he admits, a little shyly, and Zelda has to kiss him.

She takes the rest of the adventure story series, and finds a batch of old court romances that Link doesn’t already have so she grabs those, too. The rest she prioritizes: Hylian history first, then anything about the Calamity, and then dry tomes about things like crop rotations and tax rates. Link runs across a batch of collected folktales from across the whole country, and she adds that to the pile immediately. It’s hard to make the choice about what to take now and what to come back for later--these books belong to _Hyrule_ , to her people. She can’t let the knowledge be lost. _You were fine leaving it here to rot for another month after you woke up,_ some part of her points out, and she takes that voice and that guilt and crams it down inside of her with the other feelings she doesn’t have time for. Between them the stack of books disappears into Link’s enchanted backpack, and not for the first time she thanks Hylia and all the Koroks for their magic.

“Okay,” she says, her fingers itching to look through _just one more shelf, please_. “That should do it for now. Let’s move on.” Zelda’s not looking forward to it--the library was a respite, in its own way. Almost all of her memories from here are good ones. The same cannot be said for the rest of the castle.

They fight a few more lizalfos, Zelda with arrows and Link with his sword. They climb stairs and peer into rooms and clamber through broken-down sections of walls. Link points out strangely clean sections which were previously coated with Malice, and they share a moment of gratitude that sealing the Calamity removed the toxic sludge as well. “I can’t imagine the cleanup,” she says, looking up from her notebook to find Link’s face in a grimace to match her own. _I can,_ he signs, _but I don’t want to._

Zelda doesn’t think they leave it for last _intentionally_ , but somehow it works out that they climb the wall outside her bedroom in the late afternoon, the rest of the survey as complete as it needs to be for today. She hesitates, her hand on the stone, before she steps over the rubble and inside.

It's just as she left it, in some ways--other than the big hole in the wall and roof and all the subsequent damage from a century of weather. Obviously, she hadn't left it like that, but the coat of arms still hangs above the fireplace, and her desk still waits in the corner, as though she could sit down and journal again. She swallows around the lump in her throat. This was her haven and her prison, and her body doesn't know whether to wallow in nostalgia or flee screaming. Neither seems productive, so Zelda takes both urges and crams them down inside herself with everything else she's crushed down today. That box of emotions must be getting pretty crowded, she thinks with a slightly wild and entirely silent giggle.

Zelda digs through the rubble, looks through the remains of her wardrobe and shelves. There are a few books worth grabbing, some jewelry in the back of a drawer that she drops into Link’s pack without really looking at it. She searches her writing desk, heart in her throat, and pulls out her original pens and inks. The inks are ruined, dried up and useless, but the pens look like they just need cleaning. That nearly puts her over the edge, nearly pries open the place where she’s storing the things she needs to react to when she has time. She breathes through it until she’s calm again and she takes the pens.

Without really thinking it through, Zelda crosses out to the walkway, the breeze ruffling through her hair with gentle fingers. She rests her hands on the stone and looks out over what’s left of her home and remembers: remembers the times she snuck out here with a book to read in the fresh air; remembers the times she ran across Link and berated him for what she now understands was his duty; remembers scraps of conversation with her long-dead mother and with Urbosa and with Mipha. She watches a guardian whirr by aimlessly far below and remembers, with a sharpness that cuts, that day with her father, when he banned her from her research and she felt her destiny close up around her like a coffin until she couldn’t breathe.

“I never thought I’d be here again,” she admits to the air, barely audible. “How does it feel like a century and a day at the same time?”

“Zelda,” Link says, setting his hand on hers where it rests on the stone of the railing. There’s something desperate and painful in his voice, and when she turns to look at him his face is twisted up. He takes her hands in his and inhales a deep, shuddering breath.

“Zelda, I am so sorry.” He sounds miserable, angry and guilty and _sad_. Her heart surges in response, an immediate urge to fix this rising up in her, but she can’t fix it immediately, because…

“What for?” Link has been nothing but perfectly, unfailingly supportive today, and she loves him _so much_ for it.

“I should have defended you!” he blurts, brow furrowed, jaw set. “That day, with your father. I shouldn’t have just sat there and let him say those things to you.”

“You couldn’t--” Zelda tries, because she’s had a long time to accept that day, but Link keeps going. “I fucking well could have,” he snarls, anger not directed at her but at himself. “I swore an _oath_ , I swore an oath to protect you and I didn’t do anything while he hurt you. We all saw how hard you were working! Everyone saw it but him!” One of his hands comes up to cup her jaw, and she can feel the tension vibrating in his muscles. “He was _wrong_ , to say what he said, and I was wrong to let him. I’m so sorry, Zelda. If--” his voice cracks, and he swallows, eyes welling up. “If I could do one thing over, I would have defended you. I wouldn’t change anything else, but I’d change that.” His eyes are wet, his face crumpled, and Zelda feels something shatter inside her heart. It feels like the box where she’s been storing today, and she desperately crams it all back down before it can overwhelm her.

“Take me home, Link,” she says, her voice soft, and she presses against him to tuck her face into his neck. He holds her tight for the space of a few uneven breaths and then the blue lights come for them. The walk to the house is silent, and Zelda changes out of her armor, thinking. _Why not?_ she decides. It’s not like the day can get much worse.

“You said you had my father’s journal?” she says, brushing the tangles out of her hair. Link looks up, eyes unreadable as he carefully stacks the books they took from the castle. He nods but otherwise does nothing.

“I want to read it.”

Link hesitates. _Are you sure?_ he asks, and Zelda doesn’t bristle because she understands how fragile today has made her.

“I’m sure,” she says. “I think I’d like to just get it over with.”

He nods, and she knows from the cant of his eyebrows and the sad twist to his lips that he understands. After a moment’s digging he pulls a heavy, leather bound tome out of his pack and sets it with a certain amount of ceremony on the reading table. Zelda crosses to it, and as she sets her hand on the cover Link catches her by the back of the neck and pulls her in for a kiss. It’s sweet and mostly chaste and thorough. When he pulls away he leans their foreheads together and says, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she says, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.” He withdraws slowly, reluctant to let her pursue this course of action alone, but they both know there’s nothing he can do that will make this easier.

Zelda sits.

She takes a deep breath.

She reads her father’s journal.

Oh, it hurts, it _hurts_ to read it in a way she recognizes, a twisted up love and resentment unfurling in her ribcage. It sounds so much like him that in some ways she feels he’s actually speaking to her, even as he writes down things that he’d never say aloud. Logically she knew her father must have doubts, being a normal Hylian, but knowing that is different from seeing them laid bare on the page. It’s wonderful and horrible to read his reminisces about her mother--she has so little to remember her by, and his words paint a portrait of a kind, intelligent woman who was nevertheless willing to unleash a sharp tongue when needed. She sees herself in the descriptions of her mother, and she reads on through tear-blurred eyes, her heart full to bursting.

Zelda’s always been a fast reader, and her father apparently didn’t feel the need to write every day. There are weeks that pass without much more than a quick note about a particular policy decision, or a sentence about one of Zelda’s accomplishments. There’s a large gap after her mother dies--probably a year, at least. Zelda remembers that time with an icy certainty and doesn’t need her father’s words to remind her what it was like.

The entries change, after that, and she sees her memories reflected back at her. The pressure to unlock her powers, her interest in researching instead of praying, the slow suffocation of duty and destiny wrapping itself around her, silk from a massive spider. Seeing them through her father’s eyes makes it better and worse. Better, because she can see his desperation and confusion and knows, now, that he was just as lost as she was and was trying, in his own way, to help. Worse, because if he didn’t know what she should be doing, then _how dare he_ pass down directives as though they came from Hylia herself? How dare he decide his ideas were best when they had no idea what would work? And how dare he leave her alone with her doubts _,_ when they could have been doubting _together?_ That simmering, bone-deep anger sustains her as she turns the pages, as she glares at entries detailing his worries and her actions. If he had been willing to admit not knowing, Zelda thinks, then she could have had a father instead of a jailer. Wouldn’t that have been better for them both?

Without warning his handwriting ceases, half a page of ink and then blankness. Zelda feels as though she’s sprinted directly into a wall. It takes her a moment to parse that she’s come to the very last entry, and she smooths the page with shaking fingers. She takes a deep breath, squeezes her eyes shut for a long moment, and centers herself. When she no longer feels on the verge of screaming, she reads.

She finishes, blinks away the rush of tears, and reads the entry again, trying to take it into her marrow. For an instant a path unfurls in front of her, one where the Calamity hadn’t emerged that day, one where she returned from the spring to find that, while she was unchanged, her father wasn’t. Zelda imagines him telling her with his voice what she’s learning now, secondhand, from words on a page. The anger and grief and _hope_ of that potential other life all hiss out in her chest, boiling water onto coals. She snaps the journal shut with a slap of parchment on parchment, and the sound finally fully cracks open the part of her where she put everything wrong about today away “for later.” A noisy sob rips its way out of her throat, her hands on her face in a useless attempt to stem the tears, and Zelda curls forward over the desk and cries.

Link, up until now, has been bustling around in the kitchen below her, making a lot of suspiciously normal noises. Later, she reflects that he must have been waiting for precisely this moment, because she barely gets through three sobs before she hears his feet on the stairs. His arms come around her, warm and strong and protective, and before she really realizes what’s happening they’re on the bed. Zelda curls sideways across his lap, pressing her face into his neck, and she cries like she hasn’t since that first time in the field, when everything was fresh and new and overwhelming.

“Why didn’t he _tell_ me?” she asks over and over into Link’s skin, her voice cracking. “We could have--he had so many chances--why not until it was too late?” Link hmmms soothingly, stroking her hair instead of answering, and she doesn’t blame him. The only person who could answer that question is long dead, and now all Zelda has is her memories and a battered book. She cries until her nose runs and her head throbs and her eyes burn, great hiccuping sobs that rattle her whole body. _I thought I was done grieving_ , she thinks in a moment of clarity between tears. A hundred years seemed like enough time to mourn the loss of everything she’d known, but the problem is that she hadn’t known _this_. She’s grieving a whole new loss, a loss of a future she didn’t realize she might have had, and that stings even harder. Zelda cries for her father, and for the castle that she loved and hated, and for her mother, and for her people, and for the creatures she killed today. She cries for the whole beautiful, horrible, cruel, kind world, and she cries for herself, too.

Eventually she cries herself out, occasionally sniffling into the handkerchief Link handed her at some point in the process. He kisses the top of her head and squeezes her a little tighter, his arms a comforting circle that promise safety no matter what. “Better?” he asks, gently, tucking her head under his chin.

Zelda nods and wipes her nose. “Thank you,” she says, her voice rough from sobbing. “That was hard but you were right. It was good for me to read it.” She takes a long, shuddering breath, and summons a brittle smile. “Even if it doesn’t feel that way right now.”

Link tips her chin up and kisses her, mouth and cheek and forehead. “Let me take care of you tonight?” he asks, gentle. She can tell how much he wants to, the hope written across his face. It makes her feel guilty and unworthy, because what has he done in his life other than take care of her? Isn’t that all he does? He senses her hesitation and brushes another gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Please, Zelda. Let me take care of you.” Link looks her right in the eye, pink at the tips of his ears, and says firmly, “I _want_ to take care of you.”

How can she possibly hold firm in the face of that? Zelda nods, eyes welling up again, and Link smiles at her, warm like the sun on clouds at sunrise. He gathers her up and carries her downstairs, where there’s soup and biscuits waiting. They eat sitting on the same side of the table, pressed together from knee to thigh. She lets the contact fill her up as much as the food, needing his quiet reassurance, his steady presence at her side. Metal clinks against ceramic as she empties her bowl and leans against him, shutting her eyes. Somehow she manages to think about nothing at all, breathing in the smell of Link and fresh baking and savory soup. It smells like home.

Link carries her into the bathing room, after. (Zelda considers, briefly, telling him that she’s perfectly capable of walking. She decides against it--she agreed to this, so now she’s going to see where it goes.) He undresses her with gentle, reverent hands and an expression of perfect, soft satisfaction on his face. It’s marred only by the little frown line that appears between his eyebrows when he slides her trousers down to expose livid purple-black bruises standing out on her pale skin. “Hey,” Zelda says softly, reaching down to run her thumb over the frown line. “I’m all right.” Link looks up at her, on his knees with his hands still holding her trousers. His face smooths out again as she steps out of the fabric, and he rests his fingertips lightly on the outside of her thighs. His lips brush over the bruises, so light she almost can’t feel it. Zelda strokes her hand over his hair and breathes.

Link washes her with the same care he takes with everything he finds important, his hands gentle or firm as her body requires it. After she’s scrubbed clean he fills the tub up so she can soak, kneeling behind her with a comb and an array of hair products. He washes her hair as she lounges against the side of the tub, rinsing it with pitchers of water into a bucket, then carefully combs hair oils through it that smell of rosemary and lavender. He dries her with the same care, the towel chasing droplets down her skin, his face intent on his task. Zelda loves him so much she thinks she might die of it.

Link picks her up again and carries her, naked, upstairs to lay her on the turned down sheets of the bed. He presses a kiss to her forehead as he pulls back to sign, _Stay here._ Zelda does. She stretches, a little, enjoying the evening air on her skin, eyes half shut. Link returns with salves and strips down to his shorts before he joins her on the mattress. He has some for bruising, cold and tingling as he delicately smooths it over the tender bruises on her thighs, and then the multiple other bruises she’d hardly noticed. She squints at one on her hip, trying to remember what happened, and Link notices the direction of her gaze and smiles. _You tripped on a piece of rubble and ran into a doorframe,_ he tells her, carefully working the salve into her skin. Zelda blinks. Oh. Yes. So she did.

Link finishes with the bruise salve and switches to another, one that feels warm and rich. This one he dabs over the scrapes on her arms and knees, from the climbing and crawling and everything else she did today. When he’s done he turns her over onto her stomach and rubs something minty and herbal into her shoulders, forcing out the knots from fighting and carrying weapons and the constant stress of being in the castle. Zelda breathes through it, the good pain of muscles relaxing under the onslaught of his thumbs, and drifts pleasantly.

At some point his hands go from kneading to petting, and Zelda stretches a little and curls halfway onto her side so she can peer up at him between her lashes. “Hey,” she says indistinctly.

“Hey,” Link says, leaning down to kiss her temple. Zelda rolls the rest of the way over onto her back and rests a hand on one of his thighs, a statement of ownership almost more than anything else. She’s still not sure how she got so lucky, getting to have him like this. She strokes her thumb back and forth idly, enjoying the warmth and texture of his skin. The room is quiet, just the two of them, and Zelda’s perfectly content to have this be the end of the day, but she’s also naked and Link’s chest is as appealing as ever in the sunset light, so…

As if in answer to her thoughts, Link lets one of his hands drift from her waist slowly to the center of her stomach and then down. He lifts his eyebrows at her in question, flushed across his nose and at the points of his ears. Zelda considers, for a moment, making him ask her out loud, or with his hands. He does blush so prettily… But he asked to take care of her, tonight, so instead she smiles at him, slow and sly, and nods. Link’s answering smile is a precious thing, and Zelda hoards it to her heart greedily as he leans down and kisses her. It’s light, barely a brush of his lips against hers before he sits up and clambers out of the bed. He puts away the salves and wipes his hands and comes back with one of what Zelda obnoxiously calls their sex towels and Link steadfastly refuses to call anything at all. As he climbs back into bed Zelda stills him by hooking a finger into the waistband of his shorts and tugging lightly.

 _This is supposed to be for you,_ he tells her, the blush she loves blooming across his face. “I know,” she says, running her finger back and forth inside his waistband, letting the v of the fabric slide against her skin. “ _I_ like getting to see _you._ ” He blushes harder, but acquiesces to taking off the shorts. He’s half hard already, cock flushed against his thigh, and Zelda schemes about getting her hands on him while Link gets the towel under her hips. The scheming turns out to be for naught, since he ends up leaning back against the headboard with her in his lap. He settles her into his embrace, her back pressed against his front from hips to shoulders, legs bracketing hers. Zelda tips her head back against his shoulder as he wraps his arms around her, touching skin-to-skin as much as it’s possible for two people to touch, and decides this is nice, too. Link nudges her head to the side and kisses her neck, and Zelda shivers. Yes. This is _very_ nice, actually.

Link doesn’t tease, precisely. He’s just slow. Methodical. Deliberate. He knows what she likes, now, and he gives it to her at precisely the pace he has in mind, and won’t be swayed from his path no matter how much she writhes and deliberately rubs against his erection. “Link,” she whines as he bites at her neck, one hand on her breast and the other stroking between her legs at a pace she wants to hate and instead loves.

“Mmm?” he hums against her skin, dropping kisses under her ear, his hand not speeding up at all as he circles her clit with his fingers. The tension coils in her gut and lower back, languid and hot. Zelda gives up trying to convince him to do anything differently and wraps one arm around the back of his neck, her other hand on his thigh. It gives her just enough leverage that she can rock into his touch, so that’s exactly what she does as he inexorably winds her up, up, up. When she comes it’s with a sigh, the feeling almost gentle as it shudders through her body. She slumps back against him, happily panting, and manages to turn her head so she can kiss his jaw. Link makes a pleased sound and pets her hip with his non-sticky hand for a little while, while she catches her breath. Then he kisses her under the ear and goes to climb out of the bed.

“Where are you going?” Zelda says, grabbing him by the wrist and tugging him back down onto the mattress. She rolls onto her side and stretches languidly, pressing her ass against his erection in the process. Link shivers and tries to give her what is supposed to be a stern look.

“Tonight was for you,” he says, but she can tell his heart isn’t in it. He just needs the tiniest push and she knows exactly where to add the pressure. Zelda wraps his arm around her waist and looks at him sidelong, through her lashes and over her shoulder.

“Tonight has been lovely, Link,” she says, sincere instead of seductive. “There’s just one thing missing, though.” She grins, sly and sweet, and gives him a _look._ It’s truly gratifying how hard he blushes. Gods, she loves him like this.

“Okay,” he says, not quite making eye contact and twitching a little when she rolls her hips against him again. “How?”

“Like this,” Zelda says, because she’s had a little bit of time to consider logistics. She has to do a bit of shimmying, but she gets her legs in the right spot and then reaches back to guide him between her thighs, where she’s still wet from Link’s hard work. “I want you close,” she confesses, oddly embarrassed to be admitting what feels like a weakness.

Link breathes out, shaky against the skin of her neck, and kisses where his breath raised goosebumps. “I live to serve,” he says, and moves his hips in a tentative thrust. Oh, it’s very good, him fucking between her thighs and along her pussy. Zelda doesn’t have it in her to come again, but like this she can feel the whole of him pressed along her body, every shudder and shiver and little unvoiced noise vibrating on her skin. It’s really, really lovely--she finds herself surprised by how warm it makes her feel, not the burning flame of arousal, but the cozy comfort of a chair by the fire on an autumn day. Link mouths at her neck and shoulder, his arm tight around her waist keeping her flush against him, and he comes so quietly that when he pulses between her legs and spills hot on her skin, it’s a bit of a surprise.

“Perfect,” she says, managing to twist her upper body around enough that she can kiss him without moving their hips. He makes a pleased sound against her mouth and they stay like that for a little while, trading soft kisses. Eventually the mess becomes a bit too much to ignore, and they clean up and climb back into bed for good this time. Zelda curls up on her side, Link mirroring her, and she brushes his hair out of his eyes, fingertips lingering on his cheek.

“Thank you,” she says, quietly. “For tonight, and also… for keeping his journal, and saving it for me.” There’s the barest tremor in her fingertips as she traces his features, and Link sets his hand over hers, trapping it against his cheek.

“Of course,” he says, and what she can see of his eyes in the darkness are intense and warm and so many things she loves. “Anything I can do for you, Zelda, anything I can give you, you just have to ask.” Link leans forward and kisses her, lightly, sweetly. “I’m yours,” he says, on a breath, and her heart does something complicated inside her ribcage.

“My knight,” she says, and kisses him again. “Come here, then.” Zelda pulls him toward her until she can get his head pillowed on her shoulder, and tucks her legs over his. This is where she belongs, in this bed, in this house, with this person. She wipes away a tear or two and lets herself just be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Aw, yeah, so Link finally gets to see Zelda fight and it makes him SUPER HORNY  
> This Chapter: Actually what if it gets really sad and melancholy instead?  
> Me: Well, I guess I can't stop you?  
> This Chapter: Cool cool cool, there's also gonna be a lot of grief and mourning.  
> Me: I guess?
> 
> This chapter would have been up sooner but you know how sometimes you make a joke with friends and one thing leads to another and you end up writing a 15,000 word modern AU one-shot for The Untamed featuring drunken shenanigans, set entirely and specifically in one neighborhood in your city? And you write it in two days? Which means on day two you somehow work a full shift and then ALSO spit out 10,000 words in a stream of consciousness fugue state?
> 
> No? Just me? Well, anyway, that happened.


	20. Chapter 20

Zelda, rather reluctantly, accepts that she needs to actually start planning the council she intends to hold in Kakariko. “It’s much more fun to just wander around and explore,” she grumbles to Link as she looks over her notes and her annotated map of Hyrule. “If I hadn’t told Impa I was going to do it I’d be giving heavy consideration to defecting entirely and running into the woods.”

Link sets down a cup of tea and a cheese scone. _Which woods?_

“Oh, the Great Hyrule Forest, obviously,” Zelda says. “No one could find me there.”

 _Good call,_ Link signs, a thoughtful tilt to his brows. _I’d go for Faron, because it’s close enough to the ocean to go swimming._

“The humidity, though.” Zelda makes a face. “You’d have to never stop swimming if you didn’t want to be dripping with sweat.”

 _Sorry, did we care about being realistic?_ Link asks. _I thought these were our fake wishes for avoiding all our responsibilities, in which case I wouldn’t ever_ **_have_ ** _to stop swimming._

“Don’t sass me,” Zelda says, taking a bite of her scone to hide her smile. “What responsibilities do you have now, anyway?”

 _The Captain of the Guard told me I’m supposed to give the Princess as many orgasms as she requires,_ Link signs with a shockingly deadpan face, though he still blushes pink across his cheeks and ears. _I take that duty very seriously._

“Hm.” Zelda taps her pen on the table and gives him an imperious look. “Your loyalty is noted, Sir Knight.”

 _I’m pretty sure I’ve almost earned a medal for outstanding service to the crown,_ Link adds before his face breaks and he’s too overcome with embarrassment to continue. Zelda cannot resist any longer, and she abandons the table to pin him against the kitchen counter and pepper his face with kisses.

She spends a couple of days with Impa, taking the slate over in the mornings and back at night, working out the details about housing and scheduling and a hundred other boring but important logistical questions. If she’s inviting the leaders of Hyrule to leave their homes and travel to talk to a princess without a throne and castle, she needs to make it worth the travel time. Hyrule has functioned, in the hundred years she was incorporeal. Zelda wants it to _thrive_. She says as much to Impa, and the old woman gives her a knowing look and mutters, “Hyrule’s not the only thing thriving these days, hmm?”

Link, thankfully, is out playing tag with Cottla, so he doesn’t blush so hard he passes out at the suggestive tone in Impa’s voice. Zelda was expecting this to come up at some point, because Impa, over the course of the last century, lost every single bit of any shame she’d ever possessed. Zelda takes a sip of her tea, smiles, and says nothing. Impa stares at her for a long, long time and eventually harrumphs in defeat. “Do you need the elixir?” she asks, bluntly, pouring another cup for herself.

“I brewed it myself,” Zelda says. “Took the first dose yesterday morning.”

Impa nods, sharply. “Clever girl. Should have known you’d have it handled.”

“It’s not the only thing being handled,” Zelda says, blithely, and Impa chokes on her next sip.

Once the general plan is settled and they’ve set a date (far enough in the future that there will be plenty of travel time, but soon enough that it will feel somewhat urgent) Zelda buys some nice stationary and writes the official invitations. She goes through a few drafts, trying out different calligraphy styles, and realizes at about draft five that she’s just stalling. Annoyed with herself, she finishes up all four invitations in a blaze of spite and seals them with wax. Her father’s signet ring is lost to time, so after some thought, she uses a spare pen nib to draw a triforce in each pool of wax. It’s not _perfect_ , but that seems to fit now, anyway.

She also writes a series of less formal letters, for various Hylians she’s met in her travels with Link, who she thinks ought to have a say in their own future. Bolson is an obvious choice, with his clear understanding of her background and his demonstrated ability in construction. She writes to Beedle, as well, though she’s not entirely certain where to find him, since he wanders so much. “Oh,” Link says over dinner that night, “he’s always hanging around one of the stables. I’ll take a day and go check them all and hand it over when I run into him.”

“That,” Zelda says, fervently, “would be _great._ ” She doesn’t find traveling by slate nearly as disorienting these days, but she’s learned her limit is about four trips before she needs a hard nap. That will let her deliver all the formal letters in one day, but searching for Beedle herself sounds like a one-way trip to sleepytown. Sleepytown is a nice place, but Zelda would like to avoid visiting it more than necessary.

Delivering the formal invitations is probably more nerve-wracking than it needs to be, but she can’t help feeling like a fraud as she settles Link’s diamond circlet on her brow and the ceremonial necklace on her collarbone. Who is she to demand a council of the remaining leaders? How is she supposed to pretend like a ruler when everything she currently owns was bought by her knight? Even with the fastest construction, the castle won’t be livable again in her lifetime. She’ll never sit on her father’s throne.

“Hey,” Link says, coming up behind her in the mirror. He brushes her hair out of the way so he can press his lips to the back of her neck. “You’re going to do great.” Zelda looks at his reflection, the Champion blue of his tunic, the matching ribbons he’s woven into his hair like a country maiden going to a dance, and the encouraging warmth of his smile. It all fills her up like the tide, and she lets it buoy her along. “I am,” she says in a voice that brooks no argument, not even from herself. “Let’s go.”

Her worry was, unsurprisingly, unnecessary. (Logically, she knew it would be, but the real trouble with emotions is how much they don’t care about logic.) In many ways it’s a rehash of her first series of visits--she has almost exactly the same conversation, four times, to the point that when they make it to Gerudo Town Zelda gives heavy consideration to throwing the letter at Lady Riju and leaving, just to mix it up a little. (She doesn’t, but she considers it.) Everyone receives their letters with reasonable amounts of gravitas and promises to have a response ready in two days. When they get home, Zelda heads directly to the little pond outside the house, takes off her shoes and jewelry, and flops into it face-down. When she surfaces Link is sitting on the shore, boots off and bare feet in the water. _Better, your Highness?_ he asks with his most sincere facial expression.

“It’s an important part of the diplomatic process,” she tells him, wading closer.

 _Oh?_ Link bats his eyelashes at her. _I am but a humble knight, not well-versed in these matters. Please, your Highness, tell me more about diplomacy. I am eager to learn._

“Well,” Zelda says, climbing into his lap and shamelessly dripping water all over him, “post-diplomacy kissing is also a very important part of the process. Do you think you could find someone to assist me with that, Sir Knight?”

“Mm,” he says, his hands on her lower back through her wet tunic, his eyes sparkling. “I live to serve, Princess.”

“Quite right,” she says, and drops her mouth to his. They kiss slow and lazy for a little while in the afternoon sunlight, Zelda’s clothes drying even while Link’s get damper. This isn’t anything more than they’ve done outdoors in the past (other than that first, frantic, unintentional time), but usually when it becomes clear that she intends to continue, Link insists on them going inside. It’s sweet and delightfully shy of him, and also usually he picks her up and carries her, which is _great._ Today, though, Zelda runs her hands through his hair and nips his neck and works her hips against him slowly, winding him up bit by bit until he’s making delicious little noises and hard under her thigh. She leans back enough to slip her hand between them, hitch up his tunic, and start undoing his trousers.

“Zelda,” Link says, a vague, almost-protest, but still with one hand on her hip and the other on her breast. “Zelda we--we shouldn’t.”

“Do you not want to?” she says, articulating the question all the way out through every consonant. “If you don’t _want_ to, I will stop.” Zelda pauses, her hand lightly on his waistband, and kisses his jaw. “It’s only that it’s such a nice day out. I thought maybe your cock would like to enjoy the weather, too.”

“What if--” he says, eyes a little glazed, voice breathy. “What if someone sees?” He doesn’t even react to her frankly hilarious comment about the nice day and his cock’s theoretical enjoyment of it, which is how she knows she has him hooked.

“Then they’ll have learned a lesson about snooping around someone else’s house, and that’s their own fucking fault,” she says, tracing her fingertips up and down the closure on his trousers. “Should I keep going?”

Link freezes under her, blushing red, teeth embedded in his lower lip, and finally he nods. Zelda puts her mouth back on his, kissing him with lips and teeth and claiming him with her tongue as a statement of possession. She gets him out of his trousers with both hands and takes a moment to appreciate the incongruity of it, him still fully clothed but hot and bare against her palm. He makes a hitching little moan when she strokes him, and then again when she laces her fingers into his hair and tugs a little bit. It’s so easy, now, to get him where she likes having him, all pliant and desperate. That’s why she decides to push her luck a bit, pulling away long enough to give him a truly _wicked_ smile.

Then she pushes off his lap and back into the pond, landing on her knees with a splash, the water lapping around her thighs. From here she’s very well placed to do what she wants to do next, but she thinks if she just goes for it Link might up and die, so:

“I want to suck your cock,” she tells him bluntly, one hand still lightly circled around it, the other on his thigh. Link goes rigid (well, the rest of him, anyway) and looks down at her, hair mussed, lips dark, eyes wild. They haven’t done this yet, mostly because of how embarrassed Link gets any time she even hints at the idea. Today, though, she’s determined.

“I--” he starts, swallowing, “You can’t--”

“I’m pretty sure I can,” she says evenly, circling her thumb just below the head, where she knows he’s more sensitive. “It doesn’t seem nearly as challenging as archery, and I’ve gotten pretty good at that.”

“That’s not--” he says weakly, eyes rolling half shut as she tightens her grip. “You’re the _princess._ ” Link’s voice is cracked and reedy, his body trembling under her hand on his thigh. He’s looking down at her with a mix of shame and want, a face she’s come to know and love with a deep, burning heat.

“I am,” she says, giving him another slow stroke. “And right now the Princess of Hyrule wants to suck her knight’s cock.” Link _audibly fucking moans,_ and Zelda knows she has him, but:

“Should I keep going?” she asks, dropping her head on his thigh, close enough to his dick that he can feel the heat of her breath. She looks up at him sidelong, through her lashes, watches as he runs a shaking hand into his hair and fists it there, like he needs it to stay grounded. He squeezes his eyes shut, mouth slack, and _finally_ , he nods.

“Good boy,” Zelda says, and Link shifts his hand from his hair to his mouth so he can bite it, _hard._ Oh, _that’s_ a very interesting reaction, but she tables it for more review later. Right now she has more pressing matters. She leans in to nuzzle him a bit, the barest brush of her lips against the shaft, and he jolts like he’s been shocked. “You really want this, don’t you?” she murmurs against his velvety skin, more to herself than him, and before he can react she drags her tongue all the way from the root to the tip in one hot, quick slide.

“Oh,” he says against his hand, his whole body twitching. Zelda smiles to herself and swirls her tongue around the head, licking at the slit where he’s leaking. It mostly just tastes salty, tastes like Link, which is a rather pleasant surprise. Link makes another choked off sound, and she takes him into her mouth, just the top inch or so, and presses her tongue against the sensitive spot she knows he likes. The sound he makes at that is quite a lot louder, and goodness, but it makes her inexcusably smug.

“You’re going to have to be quieter than that if you don’t want anyone to come investigate,” she tells him, voice low, and licks him again. When she looks up at his face he looks dazed, wrecked, his hand still covering his mouth. It might be the most beautiful she’s ever seen him, really, and with so little effort on her part. Zelda clenches on the heat deep in her gut and drops her head back down, seeing how much of him she can fit in her mouth. Hm, enough to keep it interesting, make her jaw stretch, and then her hand can cover the rest. She experiments with a little suction and Link’s hips jerk up against her hand on his thigh.

“Sorry,” he whimpers, and she hums in response, which makes him whine and slump back to one elbow. That’s nice, she can see him a little more easily, and Zelda looks up at him through her eyelashes as she bobs her head. He’s squirming from the waist-up, trying very hard to stay still as she works him over, eyes shut and face red. It’s all very appealing, but she wants more from him, so she pulls off and keeps her hand moving on his spit-slick cock.

“You should watch me, Link,” she says, lips tingling and tongue clumsy. He inhales, sharp and audible. “I--” he starts, muffled against his hand. It’s going to be a protest, and she _really_ doesn’t feel like convincing him gently, so she stills her hand. “Link,” she orders, the words clear as a rock dropped into water. “Watch me.”

He shudders, whole-bodied, and makes an aborted sound in the back of his throat. Zelda waits, unmoving, while he slowly forces his eyes open, pupils dilated. He looks embarrassed, ashamed, and so, so wanting when he meets her eyes, and the part deep inside of Zelda with teeth and claws roars in triumph.

“Good boy,” she tells him again, and takes him back into her mouth before he can react. The combination of her words and the action draws a long, shivering moan out of him, the sound of it skittering down her back to settle in her guts. Link’s eyes are on her now, like he’s unable to stop looking now that he’s started. He _likes_ watching her, she can tell, because his hips keep jerking under her and even through his tunic she can see his abs tensing up. She goes a little faster, sucks a little harder, and tightens her hand.

“Fuck,” he says, sounding like he’s trying to keep the sound behind his teeth and failing. “Oh, fuck, Zelda, you can’t--” he’s trembling now, head to toe “--Zelda _please_ , I’m gonna-- _Zelda--_ ” He takes his hand off his mouth to scrabble vaguely at her hair, thrusting up into her mouth without meaning to, and she feels his cock pulse against her tongue as he whines and comes and it’s _so good--_

And then it becomes much less sexy, because Zelda has a mouth full of what feels viscerally like warm snot, and she pulls off and spits into the grass instinctively. She keeps her hand moving as Link shakes apart, his breath a series of high-pitched gasps. “Oh, no,” he says, horrified even as he twitches, “oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

Zelda climbs halfway on top of him and kisses him before he can get any more guilty. He freezes and shudders, and she knows he can taste himself and he licks into her mouth with a sweet little groan. “Don’t apologize,” she says, her lips against his lips. “I wanted to try.” A bite to the underside of his jaw, and she pushes back enough to make eye contact. “How was I supposed to know until I did it?” she says, primly. “Are you trying to stand in the way of my research, Link? We’re going to need to do that multiple times, so I can collect data on a variety of situations, and really figure out the best technique--”

Link sits up, shoves himself back into his trousers, and hauls her out of the pond and behind the house before she really parses what’s happened. He slams her against the wall and drops to his knees, hands scrabbling at her waist. Her trousers are still soaked from the pond, and between the two of them they get the sodden fabric peeled down to her calves before Link apparently can’t resist any longer. He crams his head into the narrow space available between her legs and tongues her clit like he’s actually serious about earning that medal for orgasms, hands hard on her thighs to spread her apart as much as he can. It’s awkward and not a great angle, and she can’t get her legs as far apart as she wants, and none of that matters, his movements building on the heat in her gut with furious speed. Zelda winds her hands into his hair, bucks her hips into his mouth, and comes on his face so fast it shocks them both.

“Wow,” she says, a few minutes later when she’s caught her breath, Link still gently lapping at her clit from time to time to force a juddering aftershock out of her. “You really liked that, didn’t you?”

“Mm,” he says, and tightens his hands on her thighs, pushing his tongue back between her legs again. Zelda grins to herself, up until he sucks on her. Then she just shuts her eyes and lets him get back to work. This time she comes on three of his fingers, Link’s arm wrapped around her legs so he can get them into her from behind, her thighs soaked with water and her own juices, Link taking her apart so thoroughly she forgets any skill she ever had at staying quiet. When she’s done moaning and swearing into the afternoon sunlight, her legs give out, and Link chuckles against her skin.

“I don’t think I can walk,” she admits, slurring a little. “You’ll have to carry me.”

Link pushes himself back to his feet and swings her up into his arms. “I live to serve, Princess,” he reminds her, pushing open the door to the bathing room with his foot. Zelda grins and kisses him, tasting herself on his mouth.

They don’t leave the house again that day.

(Zelda goes out the next morning to retrieve their dew-damp boots and her jewelry. Oops.)

Link collects the official response letters for her two days later, while Zelda spends the day embroidering, running errands in town, and nervously cleaning. Her energy is such that by the time Link gets back, she’s finished embroidering the silent princess pattern on his green tunic and the house is _spotless_ . She even polished the table. A hundred years previously she didn’t know _how_ to polish a table.

The letters are all acceptances, though naturally filled with questions. Zelda lays down on the bed in a wild fit of relief for about five minutes, because she hasn’t fucked it all up yet. Then she levers herself upright, makes a list of all the questions, and starts figuring out the answers. This requires going back to Impa, and writing more letters, and then _receiving_ more letters, and before she knows it she’s been on the contraceptive elixir for a week and a half without realizing it.

Link doesn’t ask about it, which isn’t surprising. He watches her take her morning dose at the same time every day and washes the cup for her and takes her to bed in the evening (sometimes the afternoons) and proves his dedication to providing her with as many orgasms as she wants with his mouth and hands and occasionally thighs, and he doesn’t ask about it. Zelda wonders if he ever will. She wonders what it would take to get him to snap and actually externalize the things he wants. He wants it, she’s sure of that, but to judge by his outward behavior he’d be happy to carry on as they are for the rest of time. It’s not at all that she wouldn’t be fairly satisfied with that, herself, Zelda’s just fascinated by the entire situation. It would be so easy for him to ask, even without words, just with a hand motion and something with his eyebrows, and he resolutely _doesn’t._ Without really meaning to, Zelda finds herself in an unspoken competition with him to see which one of them will make the next move. (She’s pretty sure, regardless of how it plays out, that both of them will end up winning.)

In another week the details of the council have been worked out (for the most part), the questions answered (for the most part), the invitations delivered (for the most part--a few people have been difficult to track down). Link and Zelda go to survey the ruins of Castle Town, which is easier and harder than the castle itself was, for the same reason: There’s hardly anything _left_ . Zelda gestures the prayers for the dead over the rubble as they walk through, because it’s all she can do, and it strengthens her resolve. She has a plan. They’re going to carry it out. They’re going to make Hyrule _better_.

“How are things with our favorite goat farmer?” Zelda asks Paya one afternoon, their legs dangling against stone as they look out over Kakariko Village from one of the cliffs. “Is she still all _tangled up_ with the weaver?” She nudges Paya with her elbow, just to really make her joke clear.

Paya gives her the flattest look Zelda has ever seen in her life. “Sir Link’s sense of humor is rubbing off on you,” she says, in a similarly flat voice, but the edge of her mouth twitches just a little.

“Oh, Hylia save me, I know,” Zelda says with a groan. “I don’t understand how it happened. I never used to make puns, Paya, I swear.”

“I believe you,” Paya says immediately, which is very kind of her, and Zelda feels a little guilty for not coming to visit more. She feels even more guilty a moment later, when Paya says, “I’m--I’m happy to see how close you are with Link, now.” Her cheeks flush a little pink when she says it, her eyes skittering to Zelda and away. Zelda knows, she _knows_ about Paya’s crush on Link, and she’s been doing her level best not to rub their new relationship status in her face, but they’re also so disgustingly in love that it’s obvious probably even to the bugs in the trees.

“Paya--” she starts, not entirely sure where she’s going with it. She’s not _sorry_ that she and Link have stopped dancing around each other, but Paya is her friend and she doesn’t want to hurt her, either. She doesn’t get a chance to figure out what she was going to say, because possibly for the first time in her life, Paya interrupts.

“Zelda. I really am happy,” she says firmly, turning half toward her and grabbing one elbow. “Of course I had a crush on Link. He’s so--” she gestures vaguely with her free hand and makes a very complicated face. Zelda nods, because he is definitely that. “And in addition to being him, he’s very kind and handsome and I was raised on stories of him. I didn’t stand a chance.”

Zelda nods again, and then her brain catches on a single word and offers it up in cupped hands. “You said _had_ ,” she says, eyes narrowed. “Had. Past tense.”

Paya goes pinker and drops her hand, smoothing the hem of her tunic unnecessarily. “Yes, well,” she says, looking at a very uninteresting rock as though it holds ancient Sheikah secrets. “I. Um. I may have found some--some motivation to get over it.”

Zelda sits up straighter, like a dog scenting a snack. “Who?” she demands, an excited little vibration in her heart. “Tell me _everything._ ”

Paya goes pinker. “Well--I mean--she was--”

“She?!” Zelda squeals, a full octave higher than normal. “Payaaaaa!”

Paya buries her face in her hands. “I can’t tell you if you’re like this!” she wails, muffled, and Zelda calms herself with an effort. Paya peeks through her fingers a moment later to find Zelda’s hands folded in her lap, her back straight, her face vaguely interested. “Please continue.”

Paya takes a deep breath and also keeps her face covered. “She was making a pilgrimage to Mount Lanyaru and stopped in the village for a few days and we talked a lot and her name is Celessa and she has brown hair and strong legs and on her last day I kissed her on the cheek and then she kissed me on the mouth and now she visits sometimes.” This all comes out on one breath, haggard and high-pitched toward the end of it, and Zelda feels her heart vibrate inside her ribcage with delight. She nods, calmly.

“I see,” she says, her full formal court accent coming out for the occasion. “Thank you for your detailed report.”

“You’re _terrible_ ,” Paya whines, but Zelda can see between her fingers that she’s smiling.

“I’m _terribly happy_ for you,” Zelda insists, knocking her shoulder into Paya’s. “I hope I get to meet her someday.” Zelda’s eyes narrow and she sets her jaw. “That way I can tell her if she ever does anything to hurt you, I’ll feed her her own elbows.”

“Please do not threaten Celessa with anatomically improbable violence,” Paya says, finally dropping her hands. Her face is still pink, but she meets Zelda’s gaze and grins, radiating a sort of embarrassed delight.

“Fine,” Zelda huffs, leaning back on her elbows. “I’ll only threaten anatomically probably violence.”

“Zeldaaaaa.”

“Maybe I won’t threaten her with any violence.” Zelda makes a face. “Only because I like you, though.”

“Thank you,” Paya says, sincerely. She sits a little forward, eyes down in the village. “Oh, I think dinner’s ready,” she reports, pushing up to her feet. “I can see Sir Link looking around down there.” She offers Zelda a hand up and they meander back down the path, the sun casting shadows on the mountains.

“Seriously though,” Zelda says, “I will make her eat her own elbows. I will _find a way._ ”

“Oh dear gods,” Paya says, and shoves her.

\---

In the end, it’s Zelda who breaks first. Once, she was capable of outlasting the mountains themselves. Once, she trapped the embodiment of evil and held it bound for a century. Once, she was capable of control. Then Link broke down every single wall and burned it to ashes.

Also, she really, _really_ likes sex.

It’s so warm in the loft, the summer heat simmering during the day and barely cooling off at night, that they have the covers thrown back so they can twine together on top of the sheets. Link has warmed her up with his hand between her legs and his mouth on her neck, her breasts, her inner thighs before he pulled her back against him. Now he has one arm wrapped around her waist, palm against her pubic bone and his fingers teasing her clit. His other arm is under her thigh, lifting it to give him access as he slowly pumps three fingers inside her. Zelda can feel him rocking against her back, little hitching motions of his hips that drag his cock back and forth along her skin. She’s sweaty and hot and wound up, her cunt clenching around his fingers, her orgasm building to its inevitable conclusion, when suddenly it’s not _enough._

“Link,” she says, reaching an arm up behind her to wrap around his neck, where he’s pressing open-mouthed kisses to her shoulders and nape. “Link, fuck me.”

His hips stutter against her, and he bites her shoulder harder than he probably means to and automatically kisses it in apology. “I--” he says, his fingers slowing. “Now?”

“Yes,” Zelda says impatiently, getting an elbow a little further under her so she has the leverage to push back on his fingers. “Now. Like this.” Link chokes a little bit but gets his hand moving again.

“You’re sure?” he asks, which is very sweet and thoughtful of him and also makes Zelda want to scream. “ _Link,_ ” she says, urgently, clenching around his fingers, “I want to come on your cock, now _fuck me._ ”

“Fuck,” he whines against her skin, trying to wriggle into the right position without removing either of his hands from her. “Okay, okay, gods, _fuck._ ” Link does have to take his fingers out of her, which is momentarily disappointing in an animal way, but she feels the blunt head of his cock press against her and the disappointment fades immediately. Zelda reaches down between her legs to adjust the angle and they both shudder when he edges inside. Link, predictably, tries to go slow, to take his time, to be _gentle_ , but Zelda’s been waiting for this for literally a century and she uses the little leverage she has to shove herself back and down, until her hips hit his and he’s fully seated inside her.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Zelda says, like it’s been punched out of her, and Link moans something unintelligible against her back. “Are you okay?” he asks, more coherently. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Zelda says, half a sob, trying desperately to rock herself back onto his cock. “No, it’s good, it’s so _good._ ” It is, the stretch of it a sharp burn, filling her deeper than his fingers can get, smooth and hot and perfect. “Move,” she orders, fucking herself on him the little amount that she can. Link bites her shoulder blade and pumps into her, once, to get the hang of it. It’s a fucking miracle, the feeling of his cock dragging against the deepest parts of her, his other hand still stroking her clit because he’s nothing if not diligent. Behind her, Link makes a sound she can feel in her gut, something intense and guttural. He wraps his arm around her thigh and pulls her leg up, out of the way, and uses that grip as leverage to fuck her absolutely senseless. Zelda comes before she even realizes it’s happening, cunt clenching around him helplessly as she wails into the pillow, unable to see or hear or breathe or concentrate on anything but the spiraling, shuddering pleasure that unspools between her legs. Link fucks her through it, steady and reliable (and why is that a sexy descriptor all of a sudden?). His hand clenches on her thigh, harder, and she can feel his breathing coming rapid and shallow.

“Yes,” she says, dropping her hand behind them to his hip, urging him on. “Come in me, Link. You’ve been so good, you deserve this.” That’s all it takes, his motions stuttering and his mouth pressed to her skin in a futile attempt to smother the sounds he makes. He pulses inside her, cock twitching, and if she concentrates she can feel a wash of liquid heat, and it’s all things she’s experienced with her hands or her mouth but this fresh intimacy makes it new and wonderful and _extremely_ hot all over again. Zelda pats him on the hip, once, in a sort of congratulations, and they lay panting on the bed in boneless silence, sweat drying on their skin.

“Damn,” Zelda says, quietly, when she can think again and she’s no longer shaking. “Yeah, we’re doing that again.”

“Not right now,” Link says pleadingly against her shoulder, and he sounds so well and truly exhausted that Zelda laughs, which sends his now-soft dick sliding out of her in a messy rush, which makes her laugh _harder_. When he smiles she can feel it on her skin, and they shift around so they’re pressed close, Link on his side, Zelda on her back, legs entangled. They can kiss like this, so they do, unhurried and familiar, and when their mouths get tired Link presses his forehead to her neck and kisses her collarbone.

“Do you…” he starts, like he’s not sure if he should really keep going. Zelda kisses the top of his head and hmms a little question, and he looks up at her again. “Do you feel _different?_ ” he asks, blushing a little. Zelda kisses his forehead and considers the question, because she knows what he means.

“No,” she says eventually. “I mean, maybe a little sore in places that haven’t been sore before--do _not_ apologize, Link.” 

He closes his mouth and gives her a vaguely insulted look, but she knows him too well and after a moment he goes sheepish. Zelda strokes his forearm where it’s pressed to her belly and continues, “Other than that I don’t feel like anything’s changed. It’s not like the stories, not really.” She hmms thoughtfully and adds, “I do feel a little closer to you, but that might just be the usual post-orgasm bliss talking.” Link huffs against her neck and she pets his arm a little. “What about you?”

Link also takes the time to think it over, the summer sunset drifting over them like honey. “I don’t,” he decides. “I always thought I would, for some reason, but it just feels… Right.” He runs the back of his hand along her jaw, his smile the sweetest thing she’s ever seen, and absolutely destroys her with, “It just felt like loving you always feels.”

“Ugh,” Zelda says, throwing an arm over her eyes as her guts do weird things and her heart tries to escape through her throat. “How is it that you can’t bring yourself to talk about sex but you can just drop _disgustingly_ romantic things like that on me with absolutely no warning. It’s absolutely unacceptable.”

“I love you, too,” Link says sweetly, nudging his face under her elbow until he can kiss her mouth. She cups his face and kisses him back, rolling half onto her side to get a better angle, and then there’s a sort of wet sensation between her legs and onto her thigh and she makes such a face that he pulls away to frown a question at her.

“I have just learned,” Zelda says, with her most serious expression, “that all of my research on the subject of sexual intimacy failed to _fucking mention_ that your ejaculate wouldn’t just _absorb_.” Link blinks at her, parsing that, and tries to smother a smile. “It’s not funny,” she insists, as the laughter builds on his face.

“You thought it would--” he starts, already shaking with the effort of keeping quiet, and Zelda scowls as hard as she can and rolls over onto her back. Arms crossed under her breasts, she adds, “I really don’t see how I could be expected to figure that out when none of the texts deigned to inform the reader.” Link grabs the pillow and crushes it to his face, then, his laughter muffled in the fabric, and Zelda gives in as well. She giggles as she rolls over and grabs a cloth, cleans herself up, and finally tugs the pillow off a less-hysterical Link so she can give him a kiss.

“You’re horrible, you know that?” she tells him, kissing the tip of his nose and handing him a second damp cloth so he can address his own situation.

“You love it, though,” Link retorts.

“Mmm,” Zelda says, kissing his temple. “I do. I really, really do.” She waits a beat, carding his bangs back out of his eyes. “So it’s been probably ten whole minutes.” The look she gives him is so innocent it’s basically a weapon. “Are you ready to fuck me again?”

Link throws the rag at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have one (1) goal in my porn writing career and that's constantly mentioning sex cleanup so hopefully someday some other woman won't get ABSOLUTELY BETRAYED by the reality of the situation.
> 
> I'm a hero, really.


	21. Chapter 21

Zelda is, at her heart, a scientist and a researcher. These are skills that have served her well both before and after the Calamity, and she has no intention of giving them up. They underlie every part of her plan for Hyrule--one first gathers data, then looks for patterns, and then decides what to do based on the patterns in the data. It’s simply how she looks at the world. There’s no stopping it.

What this means is that, without consciously intending to do so, she’s gathered data about Link. Specifically, about having sex with Link. Even more specifically, about the things he likes in bed. And then, just to drill down yet another level of specificity, she’s gathered data about the things Link likes in bed that he never, ever _asks_ for, the ones he always seems to try and hide. Zelda’s amassed enough notes on the topic to fill multiple pages in her journal, were she to actually write them down instead of hoarding them in her heart like treasure. To wit:

If she pins his hands to the bed, he will always leave them there, no matter how much she can see in his face that he wants to touch her. She’ll either have to move them herself, or tell him to move them. If she tells him to move them, he gets this little flare of _something_ in his eyes and obeys immediately.

Link doesn’t really request things, but he’s always eager and willing to fulfill _her_ requests. If she says “more” or “less” or “harder” or “a little to the left” he does it. If she grabs him around the waist in the early afternoon and breathes, “Take me upstairs and fuck me,” he drops whatever she was doing, carries her to the loft, and does just that. If she curls her hand around the back of his neck and begs, raggedly, “Make me come,” he falls over himself to obey.

(Really, there’s a lot of obeying. The obeying is a very significant part of Zelda’s dataset.)

Sometimes, if she’s feeling very, very frantic and pent-up, Zelda gets a little rougher than she means to. Fingernails marking up Link’s back and shoulders, her hand tight in his hair to guide him where she wants him without care or finesse. Not only does Link not seem to mind, but instead he shudders and makes little wonderful sounds that he tries and fails to keep behind his teeth. Once, she lost her balance and ended up tackling Link onto the bed, pinning him there with one forearm across his collarbone and her thigh shoved between his legs. She felt him go immediately hard, his eyes wild on her face and his mouth slack and surprised. There was really only one thing to do after that, so she kissed him senseless. It was an excellent decision.

Every once in a while, he slips up and calls her Princess in bed. Usually while he’s kneeling, or she’s on top. Zelda doesn’t call attention to it, because frankly, Link’s not usually in his right mind when it happens. She remembers, though, remembers the ragged way he says it and the answering spike of heat it sends jolting through her. It comes out of him like a prayer, like worship, like she’s still Hylia. It’s the only time she doesn’t mind being called princess, when he says it like she’s golden and holy and worthy of the word.

Oh, and speaking of speaking, there’s the way he reacts to compliments and praise. He can handle it well enough when she’s talking about something he’s _doing_ \-- “That’s so good, Link!” --but absolutely loses his shit when it’s about _him_ \-- “You’re so good, Link!” That much has been apparent even from the very first time. If she wants to watch him squirm and blush and protest (but not too much to make her stop) all she has to do is tell him the truth, that’s he’s beautiful and kind and noble and so, so good. She tries not to do it too much, tempting as it is to pin him down and shower him with lovely words until he begs her to either stop or keep going, or maybe both.

This data she’s been collecting about Link is actually data about Zelda, as well. She’s staring down the blade at some pretty specific conclusions, and…

Well.

It’s not like she’s completely unfamiliar with the shape this could take, if they wanted it to. Zelda definitely has read some books, while blushing furiously, terrified that at any moment someone would catch her reading them but unable to look away. (It’s amazing the things you can find in the dusty back shelves of bookshops on a rare unchaperoned day.) The thing is… The thing is, they _will_ need to actually _talk_ about it, first, and she’s pretty sure that Link would rather leap out the window to avoid having that conversation.

Hm. Maybe she could just tie him up _first_. That’s an idea.

The days tick by leading up to the council in Kakariko, and Zelda spends more and more time with Impa and Paya, working out details. Her analytical brain serves her well here, too, though Link is such a huge help she’s not sure she could have done it without him. He wasn’t joking when he said he helped most of the people in Hyrule with one thing or another, and while he might be reticent to discuss _some_ things, he’s more than willing to chime in with a useful piece of information about one of the invited participants or a suggestion about what foods it would be good to have on-hand. Zelda loves him so much it hurts. She wants him at her side like this forever, no matter how this council turns out, no matter what decisions are made.

This, however, is the thing _she_ doesn’t talk about. Depending on what the council decides, Zelda could end up a queen. She doesn’t know if Link would want that, to rule with her, to be tied into politics for the rest of his days. His life was so constrained by his duty, Before, that he silenced himself to hold up under the strain of it. She wouldn’t want to see that happen again, wouldn’t want to see the beautiful person he’s become shutter back away in service to the crown.

But.

What if he _wants_ to be with her like that? What if he wants to be part of the new Hyrule, wants to be part of what brings it into the future? What if he sees it as another opportunity to help, the way he has so many times in the past? The way he still does, if he sees someone who needs assistance? Then she could have him regardless, and she wants that so badly she can taste it on her tongue, bittersweet like almost-ripe berries. The answer is so important to her that she simply can’t bring herself to ask about it, her brain shying away like a spooked horse. It’s a completely illogical reaction, she knows this perfectly well, and yet…

Link might insist that she’s supposed to be the smart one, but in this she feels continually foolish.

“Is everything ready for the welcome banquet tomorrow?” Zelda asks, for the third time.

“ _Yes_ ,” Paya says, with an actual exasperated eye roll. “Like I’ve said every other time you’ve asked. Do you want to look at the menu or the seating chart again? I can add an obvious mistake for you to point out, if that will make you feel better.”

Zelda sighs and lets herself slump slowly forward until she’s face-down on the wood of Impa’s deck. “Nooooo,” she says, petulant, “I know it’s fine, I know you did a good job. I’m just freaking out.”

“You don’t say,” Impa says, voice dry as the Gerudo desert. “We couldn’t tell at all.”

“Don't you start,” Zelda says, rolling over onto her back. “You’re the closest thing I have left to a parent. You’re required to be supportive.”

“Fine.” Impa leans over and pats Zelda on the shoulder. “There, there, dear. I’m so sorry you’re having a completely unnecessary freakout about something that’s been settled for a week.”

“I can tell you’re being sarcastic but the shoulder patting helps,” Zelda informs her, attempting a serene kind of smile and mostly getting there. “All right, is there anything I _actually_ need to weigh in on, or should I leave, panic at home for twenty four hours, and come back in fancy clothes?”

“You only get twenty hours to panic,” Paya says cheerfully. “I want you here a couple hours before the banquet so you can greet people in a less formal setting.”

“Understood.” Zelda sighs. “Someone tell me it’s going to be fine and I won’t ruin the entirety of what’s left of Hyrule with my bad ideas and terrible plans.”

“No,” Impa says sternly. “I’m not babying you just because you’re feeling like a little whiny bag of anxieties. You’re better than that, Zelda. Start acting like it.”

Zelda sits bolt upright, her worries forgotten in the face of the hot flare of offense, her mouth open to defend herself, and catches the sparkle in Impa’s eye. Oh. 

“I can’t believe that worked,” she grumbles, trying to hide a smile. “Seriously, _is_ there anything else I should look over?”

“I have tentative discussion schedules for the later dates of the council,” Paya says, handing over several sheets of parchment. “Subject to change depending on how the first couple days go. You can let me know if there’s anything I missed?”

“Great,” Zelda says, much more settled now that she has lists to read. “Was there anything in particular you had questions about?”

Reviewing discussion topics takes another hour or so, and between the three of them they work out several potential ways the discussion could be scheduled. They get five hypotheticals deep at one point before Zelda, heroically, pulls the reins of the runaway horse in her mind to get it back on the track. There’s simply no point in planning out a schedule based on the possibility of five different decisions along the way. “I can feel how much I want to waste time on this,” she says, shoving the parchment aside. “I like having a plan but this is ridiculous. We’ll re-assess when we have actual data to work with.”

“So you are capable of sense,” Impa tells her, fond behind the stern facade. “Go on, Princess. Get out of here. Take your knight home, sleep well, and come back once you’ve finished your freakout.”

“I do not promise the freakout will be finished when I return tomorrow,” Zelda says solemnly, “but I’ll see what I can do.” She leans over and takes their hands, one in each of hers, and squeezes. “Thank you both so much for this. Whatever happens, I know you did your best.”

“Of course, Zelda,” Paya says, so very kindly.

“Now get out or I’ll throw my tea in your face,” Impa says, less kindly. Zelda’s pretty sure it’s a joke but she still leaves quickly, just in case.

Back in Hateno she channels some of her nervous energy into spear training and archery with Link, and when she gets tired of that she embroiders another few flowers onto the green dress she’s been slowly transforming. It’s almost done, and she spreads it out on the bed, running her fingers over the leaves and vines and blossoms, feeling the texture change between the threads and the fabric. It’s become something really lovely, so different from the ill-fitting rag it was when she’d started. There’s a metaphor there, she thinks with a private smile, and tucks it back away in the drawer.

Link makes dinner, and Zelda soaks for a while in the bath afterward, her brain spinning and spinning in dizzying, useless circles. She squeezes her eyes shut and dunks her head under the water, holding her breath in an attempt to interrupt the cycle. It works, for a bit, but it’s not sustainable, and she towels off with brisk, annoyed motions. There has to be something that will get her out of her own head for longer than five fucking minutes, and she absolutely _has_ to find it or she won’t sleep tonight and will be utterly useless tomorrow.

Link takes over the bathing room when she leaves, and she watches him pull his shirt off as the door swings shut, light playing across the muscles of his back. The curve of his neck looks vulnerable, almost delicate in the moment before the door clicks closed. Zelda wants to bite it hard enough to bruise, wants it in that instant so badly that she takes half a step toward the door before she finds her self-control again.

Oh.

_Oh._

Well. There’s certainly an idea about how to distract herself. Zelda heads upstairs, thinking, considering, _planning_ a little, maybe. She could at least bring it up, if she can figure out a way to do it that won’t make Link shut down immediately. If nothing else it’s a more pleasant puzzle to try to solve than thinking about hypotheticals for the council discussions, so if her brain has to spiral on something, she’d rather spiral on this. There’s probably about twenty minutes before Link will be done with his bath. Zelda’s come up with more complicated strategies in less time than that. Unbidden, a smile spreads wickedly across her face.

This is going to be _fun._

When Link pads up the stairs later, his hair damp and wavy from the bath, it’s to find her seated at the foot of the bed facing him, her shoulders back and her chin up. Zelda watches his face as he takes in the almost-sheer chemise she put on, the turned-down sheets behind her, the cloths and oil and ewer of water on the bedside table in a neat little arrangement. His eyes drag back over her, head to toe, darkening as they do, and he pauses with one hand still on the banister.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Zelda echoes, running a linen sash from one of her dresses between her hands in a slow, deliberate motion. Link’s eyes drop to her lap and his ears pink. Mm. Good. “Would you come here, please?”

Link crosses the loft, his eyes flicking between her face and the sash in her lap, clearly trying to get a read on her mood. It feels different, this deliberate staging, and Zelda savors the tension pooling between them. When he reaches her he stands patiently, fingertips twitching at his sides like he wants to reach out for her but keeps stopping himself. This close she has to tip her head back to keep eye contact, though, which won’t do at all. She drops the linen with one hand, leans forward to lightly grip his wrist, and tugs lightly until he gets the message and kneels on the floor. Zelda lets her hand slowly brush against his skin up to his shoulder as she takes it back. He looks up at her, face open, hands resting lightly on his thighs. It makes her feel powerful, to have him before her like this, makes her feel like a _real_ queen and not just someone pretending at it.

“I have a hypothesis,” she tells him, and his eyes glint, his mouth falling slightly open. Goodness, it’s adorable how he reacts when she gets technical. Adorable and _hot._ “I’d like to be able to call it a theory, but I don’t have enough data for that yet. I thought perhaps you could help me with some experiments to gather that supporting data.” Zelda pauses, the linen taut between her hands. “Is that something you’d be interested in?”

“Yes,” Link says immediately.

Zelda grins. “I haven’t even described the experiments to you yet.”

 _It doesn’t matter_ , Link tells her, his eyes still on hers. _I want to do what you want._

“Mm,” Zelda says, going back to her movements with the linen, keeping them smooth and slow. _Control_. “Take off your shirt, Link.”

He does. When his chest is bare, he sets his hands back on his thighs and looks at her. Zelda drinks him in, the golden softness of his skin, the planes of his muscles. She knows his body almost as well as she knows her own, now, but she doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of just _looking_. “Thank you,” she says. “That’s already helping.” She flicks her gaze up to his eyes and smiles. “Would you like to hear my hypothesis?”

Link nods. She’s pretty sure he’s getting hard, but she can’t tell with the looseness of his pajama pants. Something to investigate later.

“I think,” Zelda says deliberately, “that you like it when I tell you what to do. I think you like it when I take charge. I think you get off on it.” She cocks her head slightly and quirks an eyebrow. “Am I on the right track?”

Color creeps down from Link’s ears across his face, but he hasn’t broken eye contact. He takes a shivering little breath and, after a long, long pause, he nods. Zelda clenches at his little loss of control, that breath telling her so much. Wow, damn, she should have brought this up earlier. “Take off your trousers, Link,” she says, her voice steady. She watches with hungry eyes as he obeys, leaving him in just his shorts, erection clearly outlined against the fabric. Zelda resists the urge to bite her lower lip--she’s in charge here. She’s just explaining her scientific reasoning. Link settles his hands back on his thighs and looks back up at her, blushing and expectant and _so_ obedient.

Swallowing, Zelda continues, “I think you have to spend so much time constantly worrying about my safety, and the safety of others, and the safety of Hyrule, and making split-second decisions about the best way to protect us that it leaves you always a little bit exhausted. I think you want to be able to stop thinking for a little while. I think you want me to _let_ you stop thinking for a while. I think you trust me to take care of you. I think you trust me to _protect_ you. I think--” she pulls the linen sash taut between her hands again “--you’d like it if I took control of you in a more tangible way.” Her eyes travel across his face, down his body, lingering between his legs before she lets them drift back up. Link’s eyes are mostly pupil, dark and wide, his fingertips flexing against his thighs. “Do you think my hypothesis is accurate so far?”

The honeyed tension pools between them, almost lapping at Zelda’s ankles as she waits for Link to answer. She can hear her heartbeat in her ears, feel it pulsing between her legs. Link looks _wrecked_ and she hasn’t even touched him anywhere but his arm and wrist. Gods, if he says no right now…

Link takes another unsteady breath, hitching at the top, and finally, _finally,_ he nods. Zelda doesn’t let out the breath she was holding, because that would give the game away. Instead she tilts her head and smiles, sweet and slow. “Good boy,” she says as an experiment, and Link rocks back a little, eyes widening and jaw dropping. Oh, yes, she’s going to be using that a _lot_.

“I’d like to bind you,” Zelda tells him conversationally. “Would you like that, Link?”

The answering nod comes much quicker this time, his breath speeding up and his face flushed. Zelda runs the linen through her hands again. “Can you answer me with your words, please? Can you tell me what you want?”

Link shuts his eyes for a second, breaking the eye contact he’s been so carefully maintaining. After a careful breath he manages: _Yes._ Another breath, and then: _I want you to bind me._ His hands drop back to his thighs, and he presses them down hard to still the shaking.

With a truly inhuman amount of self-control, Zelda does not shift on the bed or squirm or try to rub her thighs together to alleviate the growing pressure of her arousal. _Control_. “Good boy,” she says again. “Thank you for answering me.” Link blinks his eyes open, glassy and dazed, and gods above she wants to _pounce_ on him. She wants to absolutely dismantle him while he begs her for more. “Link,” Zelda says firmly, instead of doing that, because this next part is important, “after I bind your hands, you’ll have to tell me out loud if you don’t like something or if you need me to stop. You won’t be able to sign with me. I know that’s harder for you. Can you do that for me?”

Link swallows. “Yes,” he says, his voice breathy. “I promise.” He shivers, head to toe, eyes slipping closed again, and then he takes his hands off his thighs and offers her his wrists. “Please,” he says, barely audible, his fingers trembling.

Zelda stands from the bed in a swish of linen. “Behind your back,” she orders, walking around Link closely enough that he can feel the wind of her passing but carefully not touching him. He obeys instantly, which sends another affectionate jolt of heat through Zelda’s cunt. She drops into a crouch and, trying to touch him as little as possible, binds his wrists together with the linen. “Does that feel good?” she asks, testing the tightness--she can get a fingertip between the sash and his skin, so she won’t have cut off his circulation. Link twists a little, instinctively fighting the binding, but he’s taught her some good knots and the linen holds.

“Yes,” he says, in that little breathy voice again. “It feels good.” He can’t see her from here, so Zelda gives in to the temptation to bite her lip and press one hand to her clit through the fabric of the chemise, just to take the edge off. _Fuck,_ this is so good and they’ve hardly gotten started. She takes a carefully controlled breath, rolling her hips against her hand, and then stands. She settles herself on the bed again, spine straight, shoulders back, and spends some time just looking at Link, on his knees, hands behind his back, cock hard and straining at his underwear, eyes dark and desperate and his skin flushed all the way down to his chest. What a beautiful gift, all tied up in linen just for her.

“Now then,” she says, letting the heat curl into her voice. “What do you want me to do?”

Link blinks at her, so far gone he’s clearly struggling to understand spoken language again. “Whatever you want,” he manages after a moment. Zelda smiles then, all teeth, and leans back onto her propped arms behind her.

“Oh, no, my love,” she says, in a voice full of fangs. “That’s not how this is going to go. I’m in charge here, and what I want is for you to tell me what you want.” The smile goes syrup-sweet and she practically purrs, “I’m not going to do a single thing until you ask for it.”

He stares at her, mouth slack, a little horrified but also still _extremely_ turned on. “I--” he starts, and then his voice deserts him. Zelda takes the tiniest bit of pity on him and adds, “If you’re very good and answer me promptly you’ll be rewarded for it. You’re always so good, Link. I believe you can do it.” Link shudders, his cock twitching visibly in his shorts, and the violent part of Zelda roars in triumph. “So,” she says, kicking one leg to and fro casually, “what do you want?”

Link stays silent longer than she was expecting, as though he was going to manage to wait her out. Zelda’s not the one tied up, here, though. She’s perfectly capable of getting herself off while Link watches, if he refuses to actually say anything, and frankly, that sounds sexy as _fuck_. Zelda lets her leg sway and keeps her eyes on Link and smiles at him lightly and she _waits._ After a small eternity Link squirms, just a little, swallows in a harsh bob of his throat, and says, “I want you to touch me.”

“Good boy,” Zelda says, and she stretches her foot out to rest her toes lightly on his knee. He blinks at her, and then drops his eyes to her foot, and then looks up at her face. She shifts her ankle back and forth, stroking her toes against the overheated skin, and smiles at him. “Was this what you wanted?” she prompts sweetly. Link’s face does a few things, eventually landing on an expression that says “ _Oh fuck, you’re serious,_ ” as clearly as though he’d spoken the words out loud.

“Not exactly,” he manages after a moment, and then clams up again, face red. His breathing is a little fast. She’s pretty sure that if she leaned closer she could see his pulse rabbiting in his throat, but she stays where she is. Her toes on his knee are the only contact between them, and Zelda finds herself a little surprised by her _awareness_ of that. 

“We don’t have to do this,” she says softly, and feels a rush of fond heat when Link’s face goes a little panicked. “I can untie you and we can have sex like normal if this is too much. _But._ ” Zelda slides her toes a little bit higher, creeping up Link’s thigh, her reward a shudder and glassy eyes. “I think you like this, and I think you want me to push you a little. So.” She halts her foot, a hand length or so up from his knee, and smiles when he whines involuntarily. “What do you want, Link?”

Link takes in half a breath, bites his lip, and grits out, “Keep going.” It’s not as precise as she’d like him to be, but a good effort, so Zelda lets her toes drift higher, up his thigh to the crease of his hip, over the fabric of his shorts. She stops there, long enough for Link to squirm a little, and in a quick moment presses the ball of her foot firmly over his cock. It jumps under the pressure, a beautifully broken little sound clawing its way out of his throat, and Zelda gives it one long stroke before dropping her foot and letting it fall back to its lazy swing.

“See?” Zelda says, as Link twitches and his arms jerk against the restraints and he tries to catch his breath. “If you’re good, you get rewarded, and that was good, Link.”

“Kiss me,” he blurts, swaying slightly forward, and before she can do anything, clarifies, “On the mouth. Hard. Please.” Zelda leans toward him, laces her fingers into his hair, and tugs on him until he kneewalks to the end of the bed to settle between her spread legs.

“Good boy,” Zelda says, tipping his head back, her hand fisted in his hair at the base of his neck, and she swallows down his groan. Link kisses desperately, their teeth clicking together at least once, trying to get as much out of the contact as possible. When Zelda pulls away he whines and tries to chase her mouth. She tightens her grip and tugs at his hair again, harder this time. Link arches into her grip and goes beautifully, stunningly pliant. Zelda wants him like this all the time. She’s simply never going to untie him and they’re going to stay in this loft in Hateno for their rest of their lives doing only this.

“What do you want, Link?” she asks, close enough that she can feel his breath on her lips but not touching him with anything other than her hand in his hair. His eyes blink open eventually and he looks past and through her, mouth red and pupils dilated.

“I--” he says, swaying in her grasp a little, “can I put my mouth on you?” He swallows, manages to focus his gaze, and tries again with, “I want to put my mouth on you.”

Zelda doesn’t let go as she rucks up the hem of her chemise over her breasts and drags Link in by the hair. He noses into the hollow of her sternum for a moment, inhaling a slow breath. (He likes how she smells, he’d confessed a few weeks ago, and it was shy and blushing and adorable and she’d pinned him down to sniff his hair aggressively in retaliation.) He kisses her there, chaste and polite, then rubs his face across her breast like an affectionate cat to pull his nipple into her mouth. It’s hot and wet and Zelda feels like, maybe, she’s supposed to pretend to be unaffected and in control, but instead she tightens her hand in his hair and makes a pleased sound.

“Very good,” she says, as he breathes hard through his nose, rolling his tongue around her nipple in motions that are almost harsh. Every stroke builds the fire in her guts, and she clenches on nothing, aching between her legs. It’s not time for that yet, though, and she tugs Links hair a little bit and shifts him to her other, sadly neglected breast. He goes to work there with just as much enthusiasm, showering her with attention before he starts kissing down her ribcage.

“Ah ah ah,” Zelda starts, pulling him away, and before she can admonish him further he blurts, “I want to make you come with my mouth.”

“Mmm.” Zelda wishes, for a moment, that Link wasn’t literally between her thighs right now, because she wants to squeeze her legs together and squirm, wants to do something to take some of the pressure off her aching pussy. She drops the chemise and cups Link’s face in her hand, running her thumb over his lips. “Do you, now?”

Link nods, eyes on hers, trembling a little. She stills the motion of her thumb on his plush lower lip, considers him for a moment, and then pushes it into his mouth. Without hesitating Link sucks on it like it’s her nipple or her clit, and a shudder ripples all the way down Zelda’s spine, the sensation of it jolting through her cunt like very specifically directed lightning. “That feels very good, Link,” she tells him, tightening and releasing her pussy like that will help anything. “You’re being such a good research partner, helping with my experiment like this. I’m collecting so much new data.”

Link literally whines, wordless, his tongue still pressed against her thumb, and Zelda takes pity on them both. She pulls her thumb back out of his hot wet mouth, rucks up the chemise again, and drags his face to her cunt without a single care for his comfort. He shuffles forward on his knees, arches his back, and makes good on the wordless promise he made with his mouth and her thumb. It’s relentless and hard, no teasing, Link’s tongue waging an all-out assault on her composure. Zelda drags the chemise up high enough that she can tuck the hem into the neckline to keep it out of the way and buries both hands in his hair, fighting to get him even closer.

“That’s so good, Link,” she tells him, breathless, rocking her hips against him. “You’re so beautiful like this, I love how you make me feel--ah--just like that, right there.” He manages to hum an acknowledgement and does, indeed, do that thing with his tongue again while Zelda fucks against his face, her core tightening, everything spiraling up inside of her. “I love watching you, love seeing you blush, love knowing it’s just for me--oh gods--” She gets one knee over his shoulders, using her calf to press against his back, urging him on with her body as she jerks and trembles and gets so, so close. “I want everyone to know you’re mine,” Zelda says, taking one hand out of his hair and stroking it over the tender skin of his neck. “I want to mark you up so you think of me every time you see your reflection.”

She feels Link’s shudder against her leg, feels his growl against her cunt, and he shoves himself further forward and does a thing that finally shatters the coiled energy under her skin. Zelda comes hard, dropping back to one elbow, one hand still in his hair as she ruts against his mouth and moans and gasps and shakes her way through it. It’s not quite a black-out orgasm but it’s pretty close, and she makes sure Link knows that from her reaction. He works her through it until she’s twitching and useless, and then sits up on his knees so he can see her face.

“Do it,” he says, a wild edge to his voice, his eyes dark and his mouth shining wet and swollen. “Mark me.”

Zelda blinks, taking a moment to actually parse his demand, and the feral part of her grins with all its teeth. “Where?” she asks, sitting back up and dragging him to the fullest height he can achieve while kneeling. Link groans deep in his throat and arches back into her grip, every muscle taut, his pulse visible in his beautiful bared throat.

“Anywhere,” he pants, and then immediately after, “My neck. I want--” His voice cracks, and he swallows. The bob of this throat is somehow the most obscene thing to happen in this whole scenario. “I want people to see it,” Link finishes, his eyes rolling closed. He tips his head, offering her the long line of his neck from jaw to shoulder, the tendon standing out under his golden skin. Zelda leans forward and drops delicate, wet kisses all along it, tender and gentle and sweet, until Link squirms against her hold and begs, “Zelda,” on a ragged breath. Then she bites him, right where his neck meets his shoulder, bites him hard and sucks on his skin. He moans louder than she thinks she’s ever heard before, shaking and limp between her teeth like she’s a wolf and he’s the prey. When she pulls back there’s a beautiful bloom of color, still wet with her spit, and Zelda presses two fingertips to it experimentally.

“Oh gods,” Link says, thrashing against his bound hands. “Oh, fuck, Zelda, I need you to fuck me, please.”

“Well,” Zelda says, smugly, “since you’ve been a good boy and asked me so nicely.” She releases his hair, finally (Link whines about it a little and she ignores him), so she can whip the chemise off over her head as she stands. This puts Link right at crotch level, and he stops whining immediately, leaning forward to press kisses to the crest of her hipbones and the firm muscle of her thighs. Zelda crosses behind him, hitches her hands under his armpits, and yanks him to his feet with a surprising level of ease. She takes just a moment to be impressed with herself and how far she’s come with her training before she throws Link facedown on the bed, climbing on after him to straddle his thighs.

“Zelda,” he begs again, trying to roll onto his side so he can see her, and she grabs the back of his neck and pins him to the mattress. “I’m in charge here, Link,” she tells him, grazing her fingernails along the inside of his thigh. “I’m taking a moment to enjoy the view.” The trouble with enjoying the view is that Link still has his shorts on, and she needs both hands to get them off. It’s a little awkward, and she tragically can’t continue holding him down by the neck, but needs must and after some wriggling she has him naked at last. Zelda runs a hand down his spine from the nape of his neck to the dip of his sacrum and grabs his ass firmly, fingers digging into the flesh harder than she usually allows. Link keens into the sheets and turns his head, looking up at her through his lashes.

“Please,” he says, hips grinding down against the mattress in little involuntary jerks, “please, I asked, you told me to ask.”

“I did,” Zelda says, going back to petting him, his skin warm under her fingers. “You’ve been very good, Link.” He shuts his eyes and pushes his face into the sheets, hiding from her, but Zelda’s relentless and leans over him to chase him down. “You’re always so good,” she tells him, lips brushing his ear. “You’re so good and kind and noble. You’re the best person I know and I’ll never stop loving you.”

Link’s breath hitches once, half a sob, and she combs her nails through his hair to scratch at his scalp. “Shh,” she tells him gently, kissing the point of his ear. “It’s all true, my love.” She pets him until he calms down again, and then she gets a hand under his shoulder to flip him over to his back. His eyes are red, a few tears still sparkling in the lashes, and while his cock is still definitely hard, that’s not the whole story, so:

“Are you still good?” she asks, cupping his face and wiping away the tear tracks. “Do you want to keep going?”

Link nods furiously, squeezing his eyes shut. He swallows, presses his face into her hand, and whispers, “It’s good. Please don’t stop.” That’s good enough for Zelda, so she sets about arranging him to her satisfaction, half-leaned up against the headboard with his hands still bound behind his back, cushioned with enough pillows that he won’t strain anything. She sits back on her heels once she has him in place, taking in the flush of his face and chest and the dark jut of his cock and the tension in his abs as he breathes just a little bit too fast. Her eyes linger on the mark she bit into his neck, red-purple like a ripe plum. Zelda’s mouth waters again, and she leans forward to crawl up the bed, pressing her mouth to Link’s leg as she goes. When she gets to his hip she holds him down with both hands and bites another bruise just above the crest of his hip bone. Link swears and squirms, not enough to escape her hold, and his cock jerks in her peripheral vision.

“You really like this, don’t you?” she asks, triumphant, petting the new bruise with gentle fingers. Without waiting for an answer she shifts her mouth to the inside of his opposite thigh and bites him there, the skin delicate and tender and begging to belong to her. Link throws his head back hard enough that she hears it hit the wall, gasping raggedly.

“Zelda, _fuck,_ please,” he says, agonized, “I need you to fuck me now. I want it, I need it, I want you now and forever, _please._ ” Link sounds like he’s on the verge of crying again, and maybe Zelda should feel bad about how accomplished that makes her feel but she doesn’t feel bad, not even a little bit. She feels victorious and hungry and possessive.

“Shh, love,” she tells him, kissing the new plum-red mark on his skin. “You know I’ll always give you what you need. That’s why you trust me like this.” That hits home hard enough that he stops breathing for a moment, and Zelda takes advantage of his shock by leaning over to the bedside table and pouring a little oil in her hand. She’s extremely wet, but she has plans for how long she wants this to last, and more lubrication never hurt anyone. Link whimpers breathlessly, cock twitching in her grasp as she smooths the oil along him, almost burning hot against her palm. Done teasing him for the moment, she slings her leg across his thighs and guides him inside her, sinking down in a single movement. Link sighs out something that’s nearly a sob, wet and relieved. She can feel him trembling under her legs and where they’re joined, her body accommodating the slight burn of the stretch with a thrum of fresh _want_. Zelda arches her back and clenches her cunt around his cock and eats up his moan like she’s starving.

“Now, what was it you wanted, sweet boy?” she asks, running her still-oiled hand across his chest to toy with his nipples. Link squirms, twisting his shoulders like he’s trying to escape the linen again, eyes half-shut and unfocused. Zelda leans forward to kiss him, still tasting herself on his mouth. She circles one of his nipples with her thumb as it pebbles, grinding against the edge of his pubic bone but otherwise not moving her hips. “Tell me what you want, Link,” she says, lips brushing his as she pulls back.

He takes a huge, juddering inhale, like he hasn’t been able to breathe properly for a month. “Fuck me,” he says, chasing her mouth with his. “I want--I want to feel you come on me.”

“Are you going to be able to last that long?” she asks, giving him a little of what he’s asking for, barely rising up an inch before she drops back down. “Are you going to be good and wait to come until I do?”

“Yes,” he says, immediately, eyes very far away, mouth slack. “Yes, Zelda, I’ll be good.”

“I know you will.” Zelda wraps one arm around his shoulders for balance, sliding the other hand between them to stroke her clit. “You’re always so good, Link.” She works herself along him, up and down, the slow smooth slide of his cock stretching her deliciously. They’ve fucked enough at this point that this doesn’t feel _new_ , exactly, but the heady power of it, the control she has, Link’s beautiful submission… Everything is more intense, sharper, the pleasure building up in her in waves of held energy like a prepared attack, ready to be unleashed at the right moment. Link doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself, alternating between mouthing at her neck and shoulder, dropping his head back against the wall with his eyes fluttering shut, and watching her face with all the intensity he can manage for someone so wrung out and lost to sensation he’s practically drunk.

“Is this what you want, Link?” she asks, clenching on his cock, adjusting the angle of her hips so every time she moves he hits her _right there_ , the spot that makes her abs clench and her thighs shake. It’s happening again, her orgasm starting to jitter up her spine and claw at her lungs. She holds off, wanting to draw this out as long as possible, keeps her fingers on her clit teasing and not urgent.

“ _Yes._ ” It comes out on a breath, Link’s lips on her neck again. Zelda curls her fingers into his hair, clenching again, and he makes a stuttering sound. He thrusts up into her as much as he can with his limited movement and his cock twitches. “Are you close?” he asks, ragged. Every time he takes a panting gasp of air his abs flex against hers, and if they weren’t currently fucking the way they are she’d be worried he was on the edge of a panic attack, he’s breathing so harsh and fast.

“I’m close,” she tells him, allowing her hand to speed up, her hips moving more sharply. “Tell me again,” she orders, pulling his hair so his spine arches, trembling like a drawn bow. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to come,” he says, teeth clenched. Zelda stops holding back, bouncing on him a few more times, each landing forcing the breath out of her. Her fingers are half-trapped between them, she’s staying so close, and she rubs herself and grinds against him and lets the tension snap. She shatters like glass on stone, flung into a hundred thousand glittering pieces. Her cunt spasms around the hot length of him, still burning hard inside her, and Zelda drops her head to his shoulder and bites him, groaning against his skin. Link’s saying things in her ear, but either it’s nonsense or she came hard enough that she forgot how language works. She’d lay even odds on both options, if she could remember what betting was.

When she comes back to herself, Link’s grinding up against her, trying to thrust without leverage, his wet mouth on any part of her he can reach. “Zelda,” he’s saying, almost slurring, “Zelda, please, I’ve been good, I’ve been good.” With the same heroic effort that once led her to face the Calamity alone and unarmed, she pushes herself back upright. “Oh gods,” Link babbles, “Oh gods, please Zelda, you--you said I was good.”

“That’s right,” Zelda says, retaking control of the situation. She lifts herself up and takes her hand out from between them, and after a moment’s contemplation, pushes her fingers into his mouth. Link sucks like it’s his calling in life, his tongue sliding around and between them, his moan vibrating against the pads of her fingertips. “You’ve been so good, Link. You’ve been such a good boy.” She takes her hand away and strokes it across his cheek, leaving heat in her wake, considers, and adds, “You’ve been such a good girl, too.”

Link shuts his eyes and tries to turn his head away, but there’s nowhere to hide from her as she rocks her hips again. Her lips trail across his temple, his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. “What do you want, Link?” she asks, getting both hands in his hair and forcing his gaze back forward. “What does my pretty girl want?”

He swallows, and she leans in to mouth at the line of his windpipe as he does. “Oh, fuck,” he says, weakly, shivering like he’s freezing, sweat beading on his chest. 

“I’m doing that,” Zelda tells his neck. “What do you want, Link?”

She feels rather than sees his inhale from where she’s biting along his collarbones. “I want to come,” he admits above her, and bites back something else before he can say it. That piques Zelda’s interest, and she picks her head back up to get a good look at his face. He avoids her eyes, but not like he does when she’s complimenting him, which is even more interesting.

“Link,” Zelda says, firmly, speeding up her hips, clenching on him as he twitches inside her. “What do you _want?_ ”

“I want to come,” he says again, desperately, but he’s holding something back, she can tell, and the feral place inside of her wants every part of him to be hers.

“Link,” she says again, in a tone that brooks no argument. Zelda holds him in place by the hair, her grip punishing, and takes his chin between her thumb and forefinger with her other hand. He makes eye contact, eventually, his pupils so blown out there’s no blue left, tears glimmering at the corners. His face is red, his golden hair sticking to his temples with sweat, his mouth still dark with kissing and a bite mark blooming at the edge of his jaw. He’s never looked more beautiful. “Tell me what you want.”

“I--” he starts, barely breathing, blinking up at her in something between awe and terror. She feels his cock twitch inside her again. He’s so, so close to coming, but he’s not getting away from her that easily. She tugs his hair again and drops her hand to his neck.

“Tell me,” she orders, digging her thumb into the bruise she put on his skin. Link goes entirely still, frozen with his mouth half-open and eyes half-shut.

“I want you to _marry me_ ,” he blurts, voice rough, barely coherent, and then he comes, pulsing hard inside her, held upright only by her grip on his hair. Zelda only stutters in her movements for a moment, which she later thinks is very impressive. At the time she fucks him through his orgasm hard, riding him to the edge of his endurance with a hand in his hair and a thumb on his bruise. He goes completely slack, shivering, tears tracking down his face in slow drips. Link looks half-asleep, and definitely not as panicked as she thinks he should after just accidentally proposing _fucking marriage_. Zelda combs her fingers through his hair gently, reminds herself that there are important things to do _now_ , too, and tries not to freak entirely out.

 _I want you to marry me,_ she thinks as she climbs off him and cleans them both up with a damp rag.

 _I want you to marry me,_ she thinks as she rolls his limp body to the side and unties his wrists, crosses his arms in front of him and gently massages the blood back into them.

 _I want you to marry me,_ she thinks as she gets a glass of water and pulls him half-upright against her side so he can drink from it in slow, careful sips.

The words ring through her head incessantly, bouncing off the inside of her skull. They rip through the inner library of her mind, tearing books off the shelves and throwing them on the floor. Zelda takes a minute to still the shaking of her hands before she brings a clean cloth to Link’s beautiful, sex-drunk face, wiping away his tears and the remaining mess she left there. She presses herself up against the pillows at the headboard and arranges him half on top of her, safe in the protective circle of her arms. Her hands comb through his hair and stroke down his back and her heart races fit to burst.

_I want you to marry me._

Link comes back to himself in fits and starts, muscles twitching as though waking up from a deep sleep. His face nuzzles into her neck with a sigh, and then he rolls his shoulders, wincing against her skin, and finally he manages to lift his head to look at her face.

“Hey,” he says, blinking at her in an obvious attempt to get his eyes to focus, and Zelda, somewhat against her will, demands, “Did you mean it?” That’s not entirely fair, not when she can see he’s still running at half speed, but she has to know, she _has_ to. Link frowns, his face scrunching up _adorably_ , but for once she doesn’t care what his adorable face is doing. The question is important and she needs to know the answer like she needs to keep breathing.

“I--” he starts, still frowning, and then freezes like prey in front of a wolf. Ah. So he’s remembered. His eyes are wide and blue and stricken on hers, and after a long, still eternity, he takes a breath and pushes himself upright to free his hands.

 _That’s not how I intended to ask,_ he tells her, the movements clumsy, _but yes. I meant it._

“Tell me again,” Zelda demands, her heart fluttering in her chest like a bird, bouncing off the cage of her ribs.

 _I want you to marry me,_ Link signs, his eyes on her face, his hands shaking.

“I might be queen,” she tells him, half a protest, half a plea. Without meaning to she drops one hand to his hip, fingers wrapped around the curve of him as though to keep him from escaping. “You’d never be able to escape politics. You’d have to be my king consort, or queen consort. You might not get to have this.” Zelda gestures around at the loft, the soft warmth he’s made for them here in Hateno.

 _I took an oath,_ he reminds her. _I’ll be at your side regardless. I want to be there as your husband, or--_ his hands curl in, a little shyly, before he finishes _\--as your wife._ Link drops his hands, runs one soothingly up her thigh, and frowns again. _I mean--you don’t--you don’t want to get married to someone else?_

“No!” Zelda says, snatching his hands before he can sign anything else ridiculous. “Never! I wanted to marry you for a hundred years, Link!”

 _Then what’s the problem?_ he dislodges her hands to ask, entirely too reasonably.

“Nothing!” Zelda cries, covering her face with her hands. “I didn’t want you to feel trapped! Hylia-- _f_ _uck_ \--it’s just--” She peeks out at him through her fingers, and he’s watching her with such a soft look she wants to hide again. “You were under so much pressure,” Zelda says, quietly. “You were under so much pressure, Before, Link. We couldn’t--you practically didn’t _talk_ because of it. You just carried on in silence in your perfect dutiful service to the crown and I--I didn’t want to see you like that again.” It’s an effort of will, but she takes her hands off her face and curls toward him to cradle his waist. “I don’t want you to lose your freedom because of me.”

Link leans in to kiss her, once, mouth soft. _Zelda,_ he signs, his eyes gentle, a curl to the corner of his lips. _If you’re queen, then you get to make the rules. It won’t be like that. Being with you makes me happy, and we’ll find a way to keep this. Together._ He grins suddenly, a sunrise breaking across his face. _It can’t be harder than taking down the Calamity._

“That’s a good point,” Zelda says, relief and fondness and a weird squirming embarrassment at his sincerity all warring in her gut. “I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me.”

 _Yeah,_ Link signs, deadpan. _You’re supposed to be the smart one._

“Oh, fuck you,” Zelda laughs, pulling him in and kissing his mouth, the corner of his nose, the line of his eyebrows.

“You already did,” Link retorts, running his nose along her cheekbone, nuzzling into her hair. “Zelda,” he whispers in her ear, “will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Zelda says, every inch of her body alive with nameless music, and she chases his mouth and kisses him like a song.

\---

Zelda takes a deep breath, centering herself. The sky above Kakariko is painted with the beginnings of dusk, the summer breeze rustling through the plants, setting the hanging bells to gentle ringing. Before her are tables of delegates from across Hyrule, Zora towering over everyone around them, Gerudo politely trying not to crowd Hylians, Gorons sitting on rocks instead of chairs, Rito perched on benches. The conversations are quiet but friendly, the opening banquet as much a group celebration of the end of the Calamity as it is the overture to political change. _Start as you want to go on_ , Zelda reminds herself, which is why she’s here in a matching tunic and trousers, edged with fine metallic embroidery but still suitable for hard work. Link’s diamond tiara is on her head again, her ceremonial jewelry at her neck and wrists. _I’m not the princess you expected,_ she’s saying with her clothes, _but I am, perhaps, the ruler you need._ She glances to the sides, Link at her left in his Champion’s tunic and sapphire circlet, wildflowers woven in and around the metal and sparkling beads in his hair. Impa, at her right, brought out her formal hat, which is even more imposing than her regular hat. Nerves squirm in her stomach, making her press her hands against the table until her fingertips go white. Link’s hand lands on her thigh, under the table where no one can see them, and he squeezes.

“You’re gonna do great,” her betrothed says, quietly enough not to carry, and Zelda’s shoulders un-knot at the confidence and pride in his voice. He’s right, and he should say it. She faced the Calamity alone and kept it sealed for a hundred years. She learned how to be a person again. She looked at what she wanted in her second chance at life and she made it happen.

She’s fucking Princess Zelda Luciana Hyrule, and she’s going to marry her knight, and no power in the world can stop her.

Zelda stands up, shoulders back, chin high, and opens her mouth to usher in a new Hyrule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Dammit, why is this chapter taking so long to write???  
> The Chapter: I'm over 9000 words long you walnut  
> Me: Ah, yes, I see, I see


	22. Epilogue

A month later, Zelda gets married as the queen-elect of Hyrule. There will be a coronation, later, one with pomp and planning and ceremony, but first the Temple of Time needs to be restored and the road up to the Great Plateau rebuilt. That will happen when it happens--perhaps sooner than she originally thought, since Robbie has great plans for using the now-harmless guardians in construction projects. They’re tireless and can climb anything, so it has potential, if he can figure out how to control more than one at a time.

There will be swearing-in ceremonies for the new members of the new parliament, as well, once the elections are finished. It’s a challenge to coordinate among the Hylians, scattered as they are. The other races will have an easier time, clustered together in their still-intact communities. That, too, will wait for later--Bolson is working as quickly as he can in the remains of Castle Town to build something that can act as a forum, while Karson focuses on the restoration of docks. Within the month there will be the beginning of something, and Zelda thinks it will be truly beautiful.

None of that matters today, though, because today Zelda doesn’t have a rank. She’s not the princess, or the queen-elect, or a politician, or even a scientist. Today she’s only herself: Zelda, the woman, furiously in love and standing across from her knight in a way she used to only let herself dream about in the dark of her bedroom, for fear the light would steal away even the idea of her happiness.

Today she stands in the sunlit square of Kakariko Village, surrounded by the family she has left, her hands in Link’s and her eyes on his, so full of a furious joy she can barely breathe.

They’re getting _married._

This is not a day for artifice, so they left their jewelry in the house in Hateno. Link’s green tunic is embroidered over with silent princesses, twining and blooming along the hems and cuffs. Zelda’s wearing the green dress, no longer a rag but an explosion of embroidered petals. They both have flowers in their hair and smiles on their faces and tears in their eyes. Zelda knows they say vows, but the words are like water in her mouth as she repeats after Impa. All she can think is _married, married, married_ , every beat of her heart pushing the word through her veins like magic. She must be glowing with it, like the silent princesses in her hair will do when dusk falls.

Impa ties their hands together with silk ribbon, woven with Sheikah motifs, fire and earth and air and water, a sacred reminder of what they mean to each other and of their bond to Hyrule. She brings them a cup of tea to share, and when Zelda meets Link’s eyes over the rim as she sips she almost starts laughing from the sheet giddy joy of it. _Married_ , barefoot in the grass, no grand ceremony or stifling protocol. Link smiles back at her, blue eyes even brighter for being lined in kohl, and his hands brush hers when he takes the teacup. It sets her skin to tingling, her face hurts from smiling, and from the corner of her eye she can see Paya openly weeping into Lady Riju’s shoulder while Prince Sidon tries and fails to offer her a handkerchief.

The cup is empty and Impa says something else that Zelda will probably be able to remember the words of later, but the important thing is that the ceremony is done and she and Link are crashing together, bound hands intertwined, mouths meeting, crying and laughing and trying to kiss all at the same time. People are clapping, she’s pretty sure, and there are flower petals fluttering down around them and landing on her head and shoulders like tiny kisses. When she pulls away Link looks up at her, tears pulling the kohl down his cheeks in tracks, flushed across his nose and ears. He looks so radiantly happy that she has to kiss him again on the tip of his beautiful nose.

“Hey,” he says, cupping her face in his free hand.

“Hey,” she says, running her fingers up from the nape of his neck into his hairline.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks, and before she can respond, he leans in and kisses her earlobe. “I love you and you’re my favorite wife,” Link whispers into her ear, and she can feel his smile.

“What a coincidence,” she says, pressing her cheek to his. “I love you and you’re my favorite wife, too, _and_ my favorite husband.”

“Wow.” Link kisses her under the jaw. “What a great coincidence. Lucky we got married, huh?”

“Pretty lucky,” Zelda agrees, and then she kisses him again, and Link kisses her back, and everything, for this shining, eternal moment, is _perfect._

Whatever the future holds will be perfect, too, because they’ll face it together, hand-in hand, a perfect, inseparable team: The princess and the knight.

The heroes of legend.

Zelda and Link, in love, in love, in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooooaaaaah hey it's done! Thank you all for coming on this journey with me! It's been a lot of fun to write about these two disgustingly sappy lovebirds over the last three months, and I'm honored by each and every one of your comments.
> 
> I'm also not done with them, and you may notice that this is now part of a series. Keep an eye out for their continued horny adventures as a series of one-shots, because I planned the porn and not the plot, which means YOU reap the benefits! There's gonna be kink! Tenderness! Link getting railed to within an inch of his life! What more could you want?
> 
> Hey, did you enjoy this tale of slow-burn pining on horseback, and in forests, and while sharing the same living quarters? Do you like femdom? Fantasy? Lorg bisexual women? Small repressed men? HEISTS? EPIC FIGHTS? QUEER FOUND FAMILY? Because I've written an original romance novel duology and I'll be releasing the first book in fall 2020! If you want to know more, my romance author account on twitter is [@ScarlettGAuthor](https://twitter.com/ScarlettGAuthor). Check it out if any of the above sounds like a thing you're into. (If it's not a thing you're into, I'm not sure how you found this fic in the first place, but you do you.)
> 
> Stay safe out there.  
> \- Scarlett

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * A [Restricted Work] by [Nendil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nendil/pseuds/Nendil) Log in to view. 




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